Nowhere Man
by Yo-yo
Summary: AU: Tristan's life is at a stalemate. What happens when Rory begins Chilton and shakes up the only world he's ever known? Tristan's POV to Strawberry Fields
1. Happiness is a Warm Gun

Nowhere Man -By Yo-yo 

Disclaimer: I do not own Gilmore Girls, nor Chad Michael Murray, but I'll be legal in a couple of months- five in fact- so CMM, we could hang out then. It'd be fun, esp. if you only wear your basketballs! And I don't own the Beatles or their songs, but it doesn't matter, because I'm a girl and Michael Jackson would never come after me.

Happiness is a Warm Gun:

_There's a kid, a little boy, who giggles happily as he races after the retreating shoreline and runs back into His arms as the water changes directions and begins to chase him. His blue eyes sparkle and his chest swells as She blows kisses at him and whispers in his ear that She loves him. His blonde hair sticks up from his round head (after he'd shaken it like a wet dog), his cheeks look oh-so-pinchable (the smile now foreign to him) - his smile carefree- and his skin was pink with exertion and tan with exposure. His short legs waddled before him as he was enveloped by the large, fluffy blue towel, being wrapped in its warmth._

_In reality, he sits straight backed against a large, broad, straight- backed chair. A boring tie chocked his young neck, a stiff jacket constricted his youthfully animated muscles, and the sober atmosphere painted a straight line across his chubby face. The brilliant twinkle that his eyes could produce had never been seen, because it had never resided in him. His blond hair was combed back severely, giving the impression of a mature child (if that isn't an oxymoron, I don't know what is). He sat at one end of the insanely long dining table, and She sat opposite Him. They didn't speak, exchange pleasantries, or smile. They ate as if strangers, never betraying an emotion by showing one. Not speaking . . . just eating._

_In truth, he wasn't a happy surprise- a bringer of joy. He wasn't the source of their smiles and loving touches (if they'd ever had any)._

_He was conceived of a business deal and raised of obligation. He was not the product of love or lust like so many of the newborns lying in their fancy bassinets being cooed over by their adoring parents. His being created, born, raised and expelled were all calculated before They were even married. He was a thought, a strategic piece on the chess board, ready to be played whenever They saw fit. He was planned, preconceived. His birth wasn't a joy, neither a surprise._

_He was an appointment._

I reread the computer screen over and over in my head until the letters blurred together and formed a juxtaposition of black and white characters. Without thinking, I highlighted the entire page and deleted the words.

I couldn't submit that.

It wasn't me . . . or at least what people perceived to be me.

It was way too personal, too open. It revealed my inner child that they'd never known. It showed my yearning for what normal people have experienced. It opened their eyes to what lay in my . . . heart, I think. It exposed me as being normal, a teenager. It made me too real.

It uncovered my ennui.

I am tired.

Tired of being someone I'm not. Tired of playing the part of Mr. Apathetic and Mrs. Narsasstic's son. I'm tired of being the person everyone depends on for determining their self worth. I'm tired of being the child of money. I'm tired of playing the part of the playboy, the chauvinist, the sex god. I was tired of never being happy. I was tired.

Just . . . plain . . . tired.

I looked back into the screen and sighed.

Maybe I would submit nothing, my grades would suffer, but it wouldn't matter. I could be sold to whatever school they wanted me to attend. Maybe I would submit something. I could scrape up as much superficiality as is left in the box. Or, I could submit what I really thought:

_Happiness is a warm gun.  
Tristan DuGrey_

. . . the computer screen read for a whole week.

TBC . . .

A/N: I hoped you liked my beginning. And I hope you read this fic also. It's important to know what goes on in Tristan's head because to understand why he's a jerk and why he acts like one will sort of help Rory. R&R please. And if you're a little confused, this is set about a week or two before Rory actually gets to Chilton. Just like "Strawberry Fields" this is going to play off of those chapters and recount their lives and how they feel about one another.

w/ luv, Yo-yo


	2. Good Morning

Nowhere Man -By Yo-yo 

Disclaimer: C chappie #1.

Good Morning:

Perfect.

The adjective that best describes me is perfect.

Freshman year, the first day of school, our English teacher, Miss Andrews decided we would have an exercise. She told us to take out a sheet of notebook paper and a pen. She instructed us to place our names at the top of the paper, and that was it. Then she instructed us to give the paper to the person behind us, and for whoever's paper we had to write something positive about that person's appearance (considering we still didn't know one another yet).

Half of the class had attended Chilton El. with me. And the other half knew of the DuGrey name. So one at a time the entire class wrote adjectives to describe the person's paper they had. When the paper finally returned to me I tallied up the results to 12 perfects, and six synonyms of the word. I was surprised, even the guys thought I was perfect (except Jase, of course who wrote "he looks gay").

I was perfect . . . I am perfect.

I am an Adonis.

Rotating the stainless steel knob, the freefalling escape of water droplets stop, and I step out of the sparkling, tile shower.

Toweling myself dry, I look in the full length mirror.

I am perfect!

The image of a Greek god stood before me, uninhibited by dress. I am exactly what I was bred to be: tall, slim, and perfect. I stand at a respectable six feet, long legs, long limbs, long . . . My body is slim and sculpted, lean muscle defines my form, giving me the look of a man. My jaw is strong and flexes when I am upset, my cheekbones are high, my cheeks sunken, and my lips slightly full. My blond hair resembles a tousled mess. My blue eyes dance merrily against my skin, everything that a Greek god should project. I was even in the top five percent of our class.

But the most astounding thing about being perfect physically and mentally- is the flawed world that envelops me.

I haven't seen either of Them in three weeks. He left for Barcelona for a "business trip" and She was on a "Women' only" cruise around the Caribbean. They probably haven't seen hide nor hair of one another for about two months. Each one just missing one another, on "accident."

When They are away, none of their phone calls are directed towards me. They don't know what my life is about or what I do. They care about Their appearances, and me be damned.

I guess it hasn't occurred to Them I turned sixteen last Thursday. It hasn't crossed their minds that Janlen took me to get my drivers' license at the DMV and now I am a legal driver. All They care is that I didn't flunk out of high school or embarrass Them in public.

I guess it hasn't gotten back to Them about what happened at the party last week.

I guess parenting is supposed to be different when you've got money. Nannies are your parents. It's totally different from those WB 7th Heaven shows where He would stay home from His business trip just to take me to the DMV Himself, His company be damned. She would look at me with tears shining in Her eyes, sobbing about how Her little boy was growing up so fast. He would take me to the dealership when I passed my test and help me pick out the perfect, cherry red, 1975 Mustang with racer stripes running across the top. She would decorate my key ring so that there was a special place for my new car key. He would slap my shoulders to indicate how much He loved me without actually saying the words. She would ask to be the first girl to take a spin in my new car.

And later that night, He would help me fix my tie. She would smooth out my tux, and arrange the handkerchief just so. He would warn me against the gold digging whores. She would ruffle my hair. He would give me a final handshake before the first guests arrived (most likely Jase) and She would press a kiss to my cheek, leaving a red imprint behind (I bet hoping She'd ward off those son-stealing-sluts).

But the truth was, She's never touched me, neither has He. I never care one way or another if He'd held me and told me what He truly thought about me, but She was supposed to. She has instincts, maternal ones. Ones that make Her cling to Her children more than anyone else. Even if I couldn't have counted on Him, She is supposed to always be there for me no matter what . . . right?

Maybe She'd held me when I was born. Maybe She'd caressed my cheek, pressed a kiss to my forehead, and whispered Her "love" for me as She watched my sleepy face . . .

But that cannot be proven.

When I was seven and broke my leg on the soccer field, She managed to show up three hours later in the emergency room (He was on a "business trip"), but She couldn't even manage to brush my hair from my forehead as the doctor explained to Her that there would be no permanent scarring.

I never told Her, but I still have a tiny scar on the inside of my right knee. My war scar, I smile.

When Grandmother died and I broke down during the funeral, it wasn'tThem who had wrapped Their arms around my shaking shoulders and told me that They would take care of me. It wasn't She that wiped away my tears and told me how much she adored me. It wasn't Them that sat up with me for a whole week when I couldn't sleep.

According to Them, I was too old to be so dramatic . . . I was only eight.

But I'm perfect. . .

I brush away the remaining moisture with a towel and pull on a pair of boxers and a wife beater.

Pulling on a pair of khakis, a white button down shirt and a green sweater, I rush down the staircase where Fredrick waits at the front door to drop me off at Jase's house.

All I can think is:

Good morning.

TBC . . .

A/N: I hope you like this fic. I get that it's a little weird so far, but just like "Strawberry Fields" the actual dialogue begins next chapter.


	3. Act Naturally

Nowhere Man -By Yo-yo 

Disclaimer: C chappie #1.

Act Naturally:

My brain knocks inside my skull, trying to punch out my eyeballs.

Every time Fred bucks into a pothole, I cannot help the loud groan that escapes me. I assume that placing my head against the cold window will steady the nausea . . . but it only seems to amplify the pain.

Why are there so many potholes in Hartford, more specifically, why are there so many potholes on the way to Jason's house? My father should have already outlawed any street that hadn't been repaved in the last five years.

When Fred finally arrives in front of the stone and brick mansion, I sort of stumble out of the Town Car, up the stairs and into the foyer, without knocking.

I am slammed by the music blasting from upstairs. Evie struts in, rocking her hips and sucking on a Dove ice cream bar (her addiction).

"Hey T.J.," she pulls the bar from her lips and throws me a smile.

"Have you had breakfast yet?"

It is just like Evie to be concerned about me. Sometimes I wish she wouldn't, though. I an not worth her time . . .

"I thought I'd grab something here."

She nods behind me as I make my way to Jase's room to drop off my jacket.

When I enter, I can see Jason on the phone. From the slight smirk on his face, the baritone in his voice and the smooth way his lips seem to form the words and whisper them, I can only assume he is talking to a girl.

We only nod in recognition as he resumes his conversation and I raid his closet, looking for the bottle of Tequila we hadn't quite finished a few nights ago. With a short, satisfying swig, I replace the cap and enter the bathroom.

It is a habit. To run my tongue over clean teeth, almost hearing them squeak in my ears. To feel their strength as I push against them, checking to see if they're all there, making sure none of them were growing weak. After every meal, every drink, every . . . They need to be clean. They need to be strong.

Hell, I consumed so much calcium even I was ready for menopause.

It started with a health project in ninth grade, and morphed into an obsession into keeping them perfect; sparkling, strong, neat. After that Power-point presentation, I had found my inevitable weakness. Soon, I was in Dr. Wakefield's office, getting every test ever done on teeth, done to me.

When the pitch of the squeakiness appeases me, I bound down the staircase and into the kitchen, barely acknowledging Farrah as she thrusts the breakfast in front of me.

I am not drunk . . . I have barely a buzz, but that is all I need. It is what I need to function on. Without that buzz, well, what is the point in drinking anyway?

Jordan and Kayla are already at the table – Jordan with her copy of InStyle and Kayla pondering as she twists a sandy brown curl and completely ignores the chocolate chip pancakes.

The table scene isn't such a foreign idea that it made my world tilt. But the more common scene is me stumbling in on the part where Jordan is screaming at Kayla for ruining her new Baby Phat jacket and Evie is threatening with adoption papers.

While munching on a piece of bacon, Jason takes a seat next to me, a wide smile on his face.

"So, what are we doing tonight?"

Weekend plans are usually up to Jase.

"I was just on the phone with Maddy, and it seems that From North and a bunch of other bands will be playing at the Metro. So I was thinking we just hang out with the group, we haven't done that in awhile."

I shrug my shoulders. It doesn't matter to me anyway. I like hanging out with the gang, but there were just so many of us, and Lane would definitely be bringing Henry with her, so of course the boys would outnumber by two.

"Is Frenchy coming?"

"I don't know," he chomps on a piece of bacon. "Maddy said something about an extra credit assignment, but said she'd work it out. But we might have to make it up to her tomorrow morning."

"I don't mind, I need to finish my Chemistry anyway."

He nods, knowing exactly where I was coming from.

Paris may have been a hemorrhoid on our asses, but she kept our grades up and our parents out of our hair.

I finish breakfast and am back in the bathroom brushing the unclean particles from my teeth.

* * *

With a swig of beer, I bob my head, keeping in time with the music. The crowd bounces to the beat, ricocheting off of one another, bumping into strangers.

"How do you like the band?" Maddy screams through her usual mask of Max Factor.

I shrug taking another swig, offering her some. She takes a few gulps and hands it back to me.

I turn to Frenchy who stands adjacent to me. She'd rather not wake to a raging hangover, so she downed a Chaser before consuming her Mike's Hard Cranberry Juice with a little Vodka, of course.

Watching her, I smile. I've known Paris Gellar since we were in diapers, and I know that seeing Paris Gellar out of her element was never seeing Paris at all. No matter where she is, how uncomfortable the environment is to her or what situation she is placed, she never shows her fear. She babbles and brings up school, but she never let the fear enter her countenance. She's like a chameleon. She changes skin and forges personalities, but she's still the same Paris; uptight and alright.

"How's the band?" I scream in her ear, offering her my beer.

She shakes her head and leans a little towards me,

"Good and the guitarist is pretty cute."

I have to laugh.

Paris is the antithesis of everything DuGrey, and yet I can read her better than I can read myself. She is just like all the Harford society babies. She has been molded, broken, glued back together and put on display just like the rest of us. She yearns to break free from society's death clutch like the rest of us, and yet she is different.

Instead of taking the normal teenager route and rebelling, she takes all that comes to her and spends her energy learning, trying to get out of society on her own. She'd rather get herself out than to be ostracized or thrust out over some stupid mistake. She'd stopped caring and focused on letting herself succeed, away from her parents' money.

"What, I'm not dating anyone. I'm allowed to objectify the male form," she stares at the guitarist's butt.

"I'm sorry," I chuckle, "It still leaves me tickled pink when you're horny."

"For one, I'm not horny," she punches my arm for extra emphasis. "And two, don't say tickled pink. You're already a phone call away from being someone's boyfriend on 'Queer as Folk.'"

"Hey, I am not," I bump her with my shoulder. "Plus, you are horny, I saw you looking at his package."

"I'm admiring."

"Paris, I've known you since forever. You didn't even look at Michelangelo's David that hard."

"He was small," she shrugs.

I love that about Frenchy. When you've got her pegged asa prude, she says something completely un-prudish.

"What?" she exclaims, a smile curling her lips as she takes in my shocked expression. "He was! And seeing as Michelangelo was gay, you'd think he'd endowed him a little better!"

"Paris, he wasn't even fully erect. How do you know he wasn't-?"

"Shut up, shut up, shut up!" she covers her ears and raises her voice a few decibels higher than mine.

I love embarrassing her.

For a few moments, we both stand in tranquility, her hands still covered her ears as I bob my head to the music. Finally she removes her hands and mumbles in my ear,

"I wish Lane would stop with the pictures. She looks like a fuckin' tourist."

I laugh again, she rarely curses.

But she is right. Standing smack in the middle of the front row is our favorite music aficionado, Lane Kim. With a camera to her face, a grin on her lips, and a few choice encouraging calls, the band has gravitated towards her petite frame. It is as if they are playing a concert exclusively for her.

Henry is struggling back to his place beside her without spilling their drinks. They'd gotten separated when the moshing had gotten out of hand and the security guards had to forcefully quell the boisterous teenagers. Unlike Lane, Henry hadn't viciously defended his spot and ended up getting carried away.

I shake my head in slight amusement, and return my thoughts to the companion beside me. After years of carving her own way, what kept Paris from being thrust out of society was the invisible pin that was attached to the lapel of her uniform.The pin attached to us all at birththat read:

Act Naturally.

TBC . . .

A/N: Hey, I finally updated! This is the hardest fic I have every written in my whole life, so please, review for me please. I don't think like a guy, so I have to accost all my guy friends and get feedback so that Tristan doesn't sound gay.

P. A/N: Uh, the Metro is an actual venue in Chicago, and the band used to be called StarStruck, but because it was already in use, they had to change it, and now I'm not sure what they're called. It's either: From North, Far North or Fuck North, but it's an f-word with North (why couldn't it be South, I bet they like the Cubs, which is possible b/c Wrigley Field is a block away).

P. P. A/N: when I was writing this the first time, I was thinking about Leonardo DiVinci, who was gay. I don't really know if Michelangelo was gay, but for the sake of the quip, we'll say he is. And to art buffs, I'm a buff too, but I don't mind making fun of the Old Masters anyways.

W/ luv, Yo-yo


	4. Sexy Sadie

Nowhere Man -By Yo-yo 

Disclaimer: C chappie #1.

A/N: I just realized something. This is supposed to be the beginning of the year because Rory starts Chilton sort of at the beginning of the second semester. So yeah, I guess this chapter is going to be weird because this is going to be a New Years party, so bear with me and my stupid brain. School is out and I've stopped thinking (although I really hadn't been thinking before that). I'M A HIGH SCHOOL GRADUATE!!!!!!!! CONGRATS OTHER GRADUATES!!!!!!! ULTIMATE ROWING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! COLLEGE KEGGERS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! YAY!!!!!!!

Sexy Sadie:

Golden buttons, silk tie.

They inhabited every scrap of material they called a "dress." "Skin is in," and unfortunately the senior partners got the memo. Because I can spot every nip, tuck and sunless tan that hubbie paid for. Well, at least those six who weren't under 25.

Don't get me wrong. Like the next guy, the expanse of shapely legs and the curve of the breast does raise my ... uh ... spirits. But Yves Saint Laurent put it best, leaving something to the imagination, being sexy without being naked, its more ... alluring. It's like opening a much anticipated present on Christmas day ... you have an idea, but aren't sure.

And standing beside me is the queen of the ball, wearing the latest in tacky, designed by Gucci.

She smiled that plastic smile of hers and slipped her hand in mine.

Soft hand, sharp nails.

Ones I know she plans to run along my back until it stings. Ones she hopes will remind me of her when Alina cleans my back with antiseptic and when I shower. Ones she expects will leave an impression. Ones she prays will make her real.

But no matter how sexy Sadie is, I will not be the one to validate her. She is just like the others. Needing to feel important, craving to be something to someone. Looking in all the wrong places, using all the wrong tactics. The ostentatious attitude, the sluttish dress, the devious games; the need to be important dominates, and I am left to decide who makes it and who doesn't.

You should have seen her face light up as I cornered her in the corridor and asked her to the gala. It was as if she hadn't been waiting for my request. As if she didn't know about the upcoming business deal between our families. As if she were flattered.

Her face had lit up brighter than a solar eclipse, I feared for my sight.

The last three days of school she'd been attached to my arm, sending glares to those she thinks lesser, and shooting knowing smirks to all her friend. I guess she doesn't get it when I leave the room when we're alone. I guess she doesn't get my avoidance of her tonight. I guess she doesn't-

"Miss McIntire, and who is this on your arm?" a voice interjected my reverie.

"Why, hello Mrs. Gilmore," Sadie beamed, pushing back her Clairol Sugar Cane blonde hair, and proffering her hand.

"You look absolutely gorgeous," Emily sent a waxy smile her way and turned towards the dance floor. "And Tristan, I am absolutely appalled by your actions."

"I wanted to wait for Sadie to leave before I ravaged you, Emily," I sent her a playful smirk. "You know how these girls are nowadays. They get offended when their escorts begin making love to other women."

She laughed prettily, tossing her head back.

Flirting with Mrs. Gilmore was fun. She had this quick wit about her. Unlike the other women here, she knew it was only for fun, and I didn't have to worry about her trying to take me up on my offers. Plus, she could shoot me down better than Paris, usually.

"Sadie, would you mind getting me a glass of champagne?" Emily smiled, taking my arm.

"I'll be right back," she shot me a pointed glance before turning in search of one of the champagne trays.

"You know she'll down two before she returns."

"I know," Emily nodded, a smile bursting forth on her visage, revealing her excitement to the ballroom.

"And what, pray thee, has you grinning like Paris during her Valedictorian speech?"

"Nothing," she winked, "So, how have you been? Jan says you'd spent the Winter Holidays with him. He's been so happy. I'm glad that you're spending so much time with him."

I nodded, "Would you like to dance?"

She shook her head, "If I must."

Something was up tonight. She was never this ... giddy. At parties she usually kept the factitious smile on her face, and forced herself not to purse her lips at all the mistakes the help and hostess were making. But tonight she was carefree. She let her eagerness shine all over, giving her the appearance of a whimsical teenager.

We whirled around the dance floor, and she whispered something in my ear.

I didn't catch it the first time and asked her to repeat it.

"My granddaughter is coming in this week."

"Granddaughter?"

I didn't know she had any children; she never spoke of them.

"Oh, don't tell me you don't know. _Everyone_ knows," she shot me a look.

"Am I out of the loop?"

"Tristan, don't be so stupid. I'm sure your mother has told you the story of the infamous Lorelei Gilmore. She got pregnant in high school and ran away?"

Of course I knew about that. _Everyone_ knows about that. I just didn't know that it was Emily's daughter ... hell, that doesn't sound like it would be Emily's daughter.

"That doesn't sound like one of your relatives."

"Yeah, we don't know where she got that from, but she's coming back." She grinned.

"The daughter and the granddaughter?"

She nodded animatedly, her eyes twinkling with mirth.

"Oh, she's so beautiful. She's got a great head on her shoulders. And she's so smart. No one knows where she got that brain from, Richard suspects from him."

"Will they be living with you?"

"Goodness no," Emily scoffed. "Lorelei would shoot herself before she lives with us again. But she'll be attending Chilton. I believe she's in your grade."

"When do they come in?"

"They haven't specified. They're coming up from Colorado, by car. So hopefully it won't take them too long. Although, they have been known to take long detours. But I can't wait. She's going to Harvard, you know."

"That's too bad; I'm going to Yale, as you know."

She winked.

"Don't worry. Richard will do his ... damnedest to persuade her to attend his Alma Mater."

I grinned wickedly, "So, what does she look like?"

"Oh no, DuGrey, I've heard way too many stories that cast you as the main character. And as much as I love you, my granddaughter will not be another name to tally in the Playboy of the Year Awards. She is the heiress to the Gilmore Company, and she will be treated as she should."

"So basically, I have no chance with her?"

"A five percent chance, if you clean up your act." She slapped my chest.

I sent her a playful smirk, and the dance was over.

Waiting in the sides was Sadie, with a glass of champagne in both hands.

"I told you," I muttered in her ear.

"And I didn't deny it," she smiled before we came upon Sadie. "Miss McIntire, it's nice of you to let me borrow your escort. I hope I've returned him in the same condition. You two have a good night, and don't do anything too bad." And with that, she was gone, back to Richard I presume.

"That lady's creepy." Sadie frowned, watching her leave.

"I don't think so."

"Well, not really, I just mean, she's ... cool for an old lady."

Just like all the others sexy Sadie was ... too afraid to be different ... too afraid to think for herself.

TBC...

A/N: Hoped you liked this chapter. Rory is finally put in (well, not in person). I'm sorry I haven't updated Strawberry Fields. I was just hoping I'd build up this story before I continued with that one considering I'm very far behind. But don't worry. I'm progressing. I believe Rory will be in the next chapter. But I'm not sure yet, let me check ... Yes she will.

W/ luv, Yo-yo


	5. Girl

Nowhere Man -By Yo-yo

Disclaimer: C chappie #1.

Girl:

There's something about five a.m.

There's always been something about five a.m.

Ever since I was little, my body couldn't seem to sleep past the start of a new day. It has something to do with the environment. Five a.m. is when everything wakes up. The sky is alive with color. Everything looks new, innocent ... without blemishes. Five a.m. looks like what my life is supposed to be. Five a.m. is my perfect life.

I am always awake before the alarm begins to sound, and I always follow the same routine. I stretch first, releasing all the tension from my limbs, contorting almost painfully. Then I shed my pajama bottoms and pull on a pair of Speedos. Before I head for the back staircase, I take a towel and a CD.

I am not fully awake until my body slices through the chlorine laced pool and awareness is finally knocked into me. Its then when I can FEEL five a.m. Yesterday washes from my skin. I cantouch the newness. The color dances over me. And I am five a.m.

Forty laps and I am physically tired. After a warm down, I pull myself out of the pool, grab the towel and pull the tray of breakfast towards me.

By seven fifteen I am in the shower, and by eight o'clock I am on my way to school.

* * *

"Hey, how'd you do on Medina's reading quiz?" I asked, settling at the table where Jason was already sitting. 

He pulled on one of his fuzzy dreads, a nervous habit of his.

"Bad. I didn't finish the last thirty pages. So I'm going to go to and hopefully finish typing the rough draft early and get some extra credit."

"That's good." I nodded, "So, what are you doing tonight?"

He rolled his eyes and let out a groan.

"I'll be committing suicide."

"Dinner with the Newton's?"

"Worse. It's day one of the Cheerleading Olympics. After practice I have to go and watch Jordan and her peppy friends. And I can't get out of it because Mom and Dad have decided they're too busy, so I have to take her home. God, I have a feeling I'll be doing homework tonight."

"What's wrong?" Madeline asked taking a seat beside Jason.

"Jase gets to hang with pre-teen cheerleaders."

"Maddie, will you please come with me?" he pleaded with her. "I'll get you dinner, a desert, and I'll give you a ride home."

"Sure?" she shrugged, pushing her pudding towards him and taking a fry from my plate. She savored the one fry, letting it sit in her mouth for a long time, and after swallowing, she whispered, "Ok, no fried foods for the rest of the week."

"You're still dieting? I thought it was just a seasonal thing?" I asked.

"Shut up Tristan," she frowned at me. "Not everyone can eat whatever they want and still look like an Olympic swimmer. Some of us have to work at it, especially with my body type."

"So, have you guys heard the rumor?" Louise purred as she and the rest of the group took their seats.

"What rumor?" Maddie asked, munching on a few lettuce leaves.

"New student."

"Is it a Gilmore?" I asked.

"Yeah," Louise raised a brow.

"Emily told me. She's excited. Was bursting to tell me; she giggled like a teenager."

"That lady's creepy." Jason frowned.

"You would think that."

"That's not the important part." Louise groaned as if exasperated.

"What's the important part?" Lane asked before taking a bite of her cheeseburger and winking at a pissed Madeline.

"It's Lorelei's daughter. The famous Lorelei! She's like the Chili of Chilton-"

"Chili?" Daniel asked.

"The C in TLC. You remember. She got pregnant by her producer ... huge scandal?" she rolled her eyes.

"Sure."

"Well anyways, Lorelei was like every girl's dream. She was popular, pretty, not poor, the three Ps. And then she got pregnant and three months after having the baby, she ran away. I don't know about you guys, but I want to see what she did with this offspring."

"That's disgusting," Paris frowned. "This isn't some reality show, Louise. She isn't something to be gawked at."

"I'm sorry, but it's interesting. She was our age when she got pregnant. She completely left Hartford society to raise her kid. She even left Christopher who was on the verge of marrying her. She had everything made for her, a lifetime of luxury, a hot husband, an heiress daughter and she gives it all up. And I'm sorry, but I'd like to see what a teenage mom can do. Did the girl turn out trashy as hell, or was she chained in a convent?"

"You sound as if you'd make a perfect news anchor." Austin grinned.

"You're having way too much fun with this," Lane frowned. "Please don't frighten her and pull a Louise. I swear I will not let you do something bitchy. If you try, I will retaliate in the best way I know how."

"And what's that?" Louise raised a brow.

"Dish."

"Hey guys, what's up?" Henry took a seat at our table, disrupting the obvious tension.

"Hi," Lane received a kiss from him. "So, there's a party at Janet's house Saturday, are we game?"

"Are you sure you can get out of the house with your mother?" his concerned look was making everyone at the table want to wretch.

Lane and Henry had been going out for four months now, and she had yet to tell her mother about their relationship. The funny thing was she knew her mother would love Henry. He was everything that they wanted, but she also knew if they enjoyed what she enjoyed, she'd lose interest, and would rather keep everything a secret.

"Actually," she grinned. "She's going on a retreat all weekend. So all I have to worry about is Papa, who works on Saturday. So, I can stay out all of Friday and Saturday. And I was hoping-?"

"Yes you can sleep over," Paris groaned.

"So, everybody up for a party?" Madeline asked.

Everyone nodded.

* * *

I was hiding. 

Instead of my regular seat beside Louise in the library, I opted for one of the lesser populated corners of Chilton and grabbed a seat in the sitting room, just after the main entrance.

Students usually stayed clear of this place. Either teachers lurk around the corners, inquiring their presence in the room. Or, someone unfavorable would enter and they'd have nowhere to run.

But I needed an escape. And so far, the notion of hiding in plain sight seems to be working.

Sadie is getting annoying.

After the New Years Party she became like the chick with the purple hair from the Anna Nicole Smith show. She's never far behind with that creepy ... hungry look in those clear as mud eyes.

At school, everyone keeps snickering and she keeps giggling. So I guess the rumors that we're officially dating and mating were started by her.

We share no classes together, hers are on the other side of campus, and yet she's outside the door just before the dismissal bell, begging me to escort her to the next class. I can't say no without it getting to the PTB (Powers That Be: Them), so I go along with it. She gets a kick out of it, and I am late for class.

And every night He calls Alina to make sure Sadie's been in the house ... preferably in my bedroom ... yeah ... right. He hadn't finished the deal yet.

Isn't it illegal to whore out your son?

It's weird. The hottest topic at Conspiracy Academy was something that incited my attention. It was a topic at lunch and a conversation as I twirled Emily around the dance floor, and I couldn't help falling under its spell.

What was she like ... this girl?

The funny thing is, as soon as I thought those words, the front doors opened, and in walked Emily and a girl.

I was sort of shocked when I saw her trailing behind Emily. From her descriptions and everyone's mental pictures of Lorelei, I expected a future Heidi Klum with red hair. Instead, she seemed ... normal. Her jeans were frayed at the cuffs where they'd been dragged along the ground and her Harvard sweater had little holes in the ribbed sleeves where she put her thumbs. Her brown hair spilled over her face and her sneakers had words written on them.

If I hadn't been in this room and I had bumped into her in the halls ... I wouldn't have even noticed this girl.

TBC ...

A/N: I hoped uz liked this chappie. I know it's taken me forever to write, but this story is seriously the hardest thing I've ever written, and I'm sort of glad I'm doing it. R&R please! And hey Frack aka Michelle, you don't like my Rory from "Strawberry Fields?" Because it's the same Rory, only from Tristan's perspective and she is a little different from the real one. But I like her faults and hesitations a little better.


	6. Ticket to Ride

Nowhere Man

-By Yo-yo

Disclaimer:C chappie #1.

Ticket to Ride:

"The American Dream" is relative, and yet its overall concept is the same: children succeeding far beyond their parents. Everyone strives for the same goal, and yet people go around it by many different routes.

Parents experiment on their children, trying to find the very best way to rear them. They try to cover up mistakes done by their own parents and therefore make new ones. They get frustrated, they get angry with society.

So why if parents are so angry with society for the options to raise their children, why don't they choose the way that has been proven the most effective for centuries? Is working for long hours so important? Is seeing your children less so necessary?

I've seen the way it works. I've seen its success.

Evie and Ant do it everyday.

Last night we sat at the dinner table passing broccoli (not my favorite vegetable) and discussing the mundane. It was almost like a scene from the Brady Brunch, with a multicultural twist. Everything was so perfect, so at ease.

As we sipped wine, Evie asked Jase if he'd gotten extra credit. Ant asked Kayla if she needed help on her "The Giving Tree" project. Evie asked Maddie if she'd narrowed down her possibilities for Prom. And Ant asked me if I had gone to see Jan lately.

Jordy had been excused from the table after crying over her disqualification from the "Cheerleading Olympics" and yelling: "Who in the hell goes to gym class before a major competition anyway?! I hate Ambrosia Beckett. Now I know her mom was drunk when she had her. No one could ever that stupid on purpo-"

I realized long ago that life just wasn't like _The Walton's_. People whose lives reflected flawlessness were either lying or had to work for it. It wasn't just given to you. And just because your house is the biggest on the block, your wait staff is imported from England and your custom cars span a century doesn't guarantee that happiness is also handed to you on a platinum dish.

I also realized that Hartford Society was nothing more than a perpetual high school drama on the WB with thriving ratings and shameless advertisement. There's always drama and everyone's nosing around. Everything is underhanded and everyone has a scheme. It's almost as bad as reality television, except ... wait, they're the same. There's sex, lies and videotape in both, including a little cash prize.

And so far He's winning the golden check endorsed by Trump.

His weak deal making and oafish requests (or should I call them orders) are really starting to piss me off. It's been two weeks and He still hasn't managed to con McIntire out of his money. Therefore, I am left with another week of courting Miss Dumbass.

It doesn't seem so bad when all you've got to do is hold her hand and make out with her whenever there's someone present. But when she expects you to converse with her about her vapid world of nail tints and lip-gloss, you can't help but want to find out if you're eligible for Prozac.

And then there's the shopping.

She goes shopping at least once a week, and expects me on every trip. She needs new shoes, a new skirt, a new bikini... If it weren't for the fact that I know that bastard is monitoring my every move with that- Sadie, I would have told her to eat a ham, and maybe then I'd look at her with a bikini on, that anorexic ... But no, I grin and bear it because "Father" will bitch and brandish the life to which I am accustomed.

Cutting off the stereo, I stared at the building before me.

For the first time in a long time the high stone buildings made me feel small. I felt as I had my first day of Chilton, insignificant. I realized then, my life wasn't as in control as I wanted it to be. I couldn't just get away. I wasn't my own boss, I wasn't the biggest person there... I was just like everyone else- looking for validation in all the wrong places. 

Pulling my backpack from the seat behind me I get out the car and saunter towards the main doors.

* * *

"Hi Tristan!" 

Her perky voice jolted my heart.

I shrugged past her, straight to my locker, intent on finding my History notes.

"You look good this morning."

I could hear her Colgate smile split her simply plastic face.

"Are you okay?" she touched my arm, making my skin crawl.

"I'm fine," I pulled my arm from her grasp and slammed open my locker.

"Good," she giggled nervously, "because I need to ask you something."

I rolled my eyes and sighed, another trip to the mall. What did she need this time?

"Tristan, are you listening?" she put on that baby voice; the one I hate. The one that made me feel like a pedophile.

"I'm listening."

I dropped my Geometry book on the floor.

"Well, you see my Daddy couldn't be with the family for Christmas. So we're having a belated Christmas party- are you listening?" she whined.

"I can hear you." I checked an unmarked notebook and groaned when it was just old notes.

"Well, I wanted to...?"

I rifled through the mess of supplies in my locker. There were a million notebooks and none of them seem to be the one I needed. I found an old gym notebook, mentally noting that I should shove that in the trash. I found an old soccer sock, almost laughing at the sight of crusted mud and grass stains- it was stupid of me to even try out for that team. I even found an old condom. But the one thing I needed wasn't there: my damn History notes.

"...my date?"

_Huh, date?_

"What did you say again?"

I turned to look at her this time. As she repeated her request, she twisted a blonde extension around her finer and rubbed her leg against mine.

She wanted me to be her fucking date?

This was going too far. She was actually asking me to go out with her after the deal was made. She was actually asking me to not only be seen out in public with her, but also meet her family AFTER the fucking deal was made. She actually wanted me-

"Tristan, did you hear me?"

"I heard you."

"Oh," she frowned, then tried those phony puppy-dog eyes. "So, what do you think?"

This has to stop.

Maybe she is so fucking naïve that she believes I might actually like her. Maybe she does believe this a total coincidence that I started dating her when her Dad went into business with mine? Maybe she doesn't know how this game works? But that doesn't really matter, what does is this: This has to stop.

And I've just found my ticket to ride.

TBC...

A/N: hey, I know, it's been forever. But I have been working. I'm going back to college in a few days, or I might even be in when I update this, but anyways, I'm still writing, just I haven't been very inspired lately, but don't worry, I'm going to fight to writers block and keep going.

w/ luv, Yo-yo


	7. Lovely Rita

Nowhere Man

-By Yo-yo

Lovely Rita:

She'd been called Lovely Rita from the lovely way she made your legs disappear as you lost yourself between hers. Everything about her was lovely. The way her tongue rolled in your mouth, the same way it rolled when she purred her name. The way she stretched and writhed beneath you and on top of you. The way she said my name when she'd reached the pinnacle of happiness.

Margaret Terlington was a siren and I had been entranced by her song only on a few very drunk occasions. For I would never truly take Rita seriously, she has enamored way too many Chilton men for my tastes.

But those thoughts didn't matter to me right now with her long golden legs wrapped tightly around me- how are her legs tan, it's January? I hate fake and bakes- her body pressed almost suffocating against mine and her hair between my fingers.

I'm not even sure how this thought entered my brain, but before I knew it I had grabbed her and pulled her against the lockers, firmly expressing to Sadie that I would not be her date for the family outing.

To Rita, it's only a show.

For me, it is merely an act.

We both know there are no feelings. There are only teenage hormones, accompanied with deceptive agendas. She has as much riding on this public display as I do. Both our reputations are dependent upon keeping this "real."

Her mouth moves to my throat and I can hear a gasp.

It isn't Rita's gasp, its Sadie's.

It's as if Rita attached to my lips means nothing until this moment. It's as if her eyes are misconnected to her brain and there's a shortage. She's receiving the info too late.

Simultaneously I hear the speed dial of a cell phone and the late bell ring.

And then everything is quiet.

I know she is gone. I heard her shoes slapping the linoleum as she scurried away.

I tore myself away from her, fixing my collar and adjusting my tie.

"Thanks."

I began to head towards Medina's class...Damn! I forgot my Romeo and Juliet paper!

* * *

I need to brush my teeth. 

After the episode in the corridor with Lovely Rita I've been meaning to retreat to the lavatory and rid her taste from my mouth. My teeth feel dirty from her saliva; my saliva thick from her sweetness.

But they will not let me out.

The teachers will not give me a pass to leave the class. They ignore my presence in the room, only acknowledging my existence when I force them to. Very much like Them.

I wonder what I will do when I get home?

I only have to study for my chemistry exam. But after that, I have nothing to do.

No one will be there, except for Alina.

I could go to Jase's house. Evie is making her 16-bean soup. I love that stuff. Whenever she makes it, Kay lays a paper towel on the table and keeps inventory on which types of beans she's consumed in order to prove her mother wrong at the end of the meal.

But I feel as if I'm imposing. If I'm there too often she will have something to say. Not something bad about me, but she'll be concerned. Evie will call Them. She'll ask why I don't want to be at home, why I spend my nights sitting on the docks, watching the ducks walk over the frozen river with my cd player blasting in my ears.

I wonder why Holden Caufield needed to know where the ducks went? I've read that story a million times and still can't figure out his obsession.

But at least Jase's house drowns out the quiet.

I hate the silence.

It suffocates my lungs. Since I was little I could not stand the void of life my house exudes. Because that's what silence is. It's the absence of life. When you're dead, you don't make a sound. When you're bored you don't speak. When you're uncomfortable, when you're alone, when you're Them, you don't speak, even to your own son.

Oh, Caldecott has stopped speaking and everyone has begun packing up their things.

Lane is animatedly gesticulating to the girl sitting behind her. Her hair is pulled into two braids with ribbons at the ends.

She must be Emily's granddaughter, I've heard rumors that she'd gotten in.

In her uniform she looks far different than before. The blue plaid of Chilton doesn't flatter her. The jacket she wears is too tight. The skirt she wears too short. The stockings too itchy. She looks stiff; artificial. She looks...

...Right into my eyes. And I am lost.

Her eyes have trapped me, I cannot get away. They are so blue they drown me, pushing me deeper into a bottomless ocean. They are glistening, beautiful...gone.

TBC...


	8. I'm so tired

Nowhere Man

-By Yo-yo

Disclaimer: C chappie #1.

I'm so tired:

Why do girls fall for their best friends?

Is it a compromise? Do they give up looking for someone and turn towards the boy closest to them?

"Bonjour Mademoiselles."

It's a stupid idea. Falling in love with your best is too comfortable, too familiar. Isn't there supposed to be a level of excitement that makes love more fascinating? Isn't one of the greatest events in falling in love learning about one another? Where is the new excitement that one when falling for someone they already know?

"It's afternoon, it's bonsoir."

"Well, thank you."

Paris and I have known each other forever. On the first day of pre-school I stole her green crayon.

I've seen her naked. I'm made her cry. I've thrown her goldfish out the window to see if it could swim in the air- we're practically related.

"Whatever, what do you want?"

"Me, want anything? I'm appalled. All I wanted to do was spend some time with the most beautiful creatures here in Chilton, and Paris here accuses me of an ulterior motive!"

"What do you want?" Lane deadpans.

"I just wanted to know who is this angel you've been escorting around our humble halls?"

"Tristan DuGrey, this is Rory Gilmore. Rory this is the king of Chilton himself, Tristan."

I am a jerk. I know it and yet I can't stop myself. Before she can react, I take her hand. Just before I can kiss it, she pulls away.

That's never happened before. Every girl I've ever met would have giggled. They would have let me kiss their hand, then their collarbone, their neck and finally their lips. They would have given themselves over to me. In a week, I won't even nod towards them in the halls.

But she pulls her hand away.

"Can you please not flirt with every girl in a skirt?" Paris makes herself known.

About a year ago Paris fell for me. She thinks I don't know.

I don't know why she picked me. She knows I'm an ass. Maybe she thinks she can change me, tame the wild beast within?

Why do girls always think they can change us? What is so wrong with men? We don't sugarcoat shit. If we don't like someone we don't talk to them; or at least we make it known. So what's so horrible about being male? Because we're so blunt and don't dance around things we must be changed?

Now that I know she has a thing for me I can't help being an asshole. I try not to, I really do, but I can't help it.

I lean over and curl her hair around my finger. I bring her face close to mine. I feel her breath on my lips. I lower my eyelids, I whisper:

"I don't flirt with you and you wear a skirt ... jealous?"

I am a dick!

When her face flushes, I knew I deserved a kick to my crotch. She doesn't deserve that.

"No, I'm not jealous. It's just that your tired lines make me want to become bulimic!"

"Maybe you should, I hear eating disorders were in?"

Damnit, stop DuGrey.

"Get a life, Tristan." She leaves.

"I am, Paris, I am."

Biggest jerk in the world, tattooed on my forehead.

I turn back to Gilmore to gauge her reaction and she is scowling at me, actually scowling at me. Only Paris, and sometimes Lane- but no one ever scowls at me.

* * *

Toothbrush in hand I exit the bathroom stall wiping my mouth with the back of the other.

"...In the bathroom again, brushing his teeth." Jase laughed, loosening his tie.

"If I paid half enough attention in Greek Myths as I pay fucking Heather Victori in the janitor's closet, I'd say you have a Narcissist complex." Austin grins.

"Yeah, you probably wouldn't be having to treat all those cold sores, either," I mumble to which Jase laughs.

"What, Mister Hygiene speaks? Maybe you should be dispensing your knowledge of mouth safety to some of the girls at this school. Maybe you should hold an assembly and teach them where to put theirs."

"I know Heather wouldn't mind demonstrating!"

"Uh, can you guys just shut up?" I shout, quieting their snickering. "I'm trying to brush my teeth."

"God," Jeremy rolls his eyes, "you're so sensitive. Sometimes I can't tell you from a common cunt."

"Shut up man," Jason frowns, "Don't be so fucking vulgar. Maybe if you weren't you'd get laid!"

"Hey, I'll have you know that just yesterday-"

"Can you please leave?" I return to my task.

I don't remember how those three became part of our group, but in know it happened here. Jason and I would have never hung out with them at Chilton El.

* * *

I'm making my way towards the school and she catches my eye.

She is hugging a woman I suspect is her mom. Their hair is different, but ... they look happy.

A tear falls as she pulls her mother tighter and whispers something in her ear. Her mother kisses her hair. She is lost within the hug, within herself.

I've never been lost inside someone (literally or figuratively).

It's at that moment I can truly see the Mary inside of her.

They hold each other until her face turns green and she pulls away.

I think she wants to vomit. I want to know why.

At that moment a scream pierces the air. I turn my head and there is Paris. She is on the ground with puzzle pieces all around her. Her face is red and she looks frustrated.

She fell on the ice.

She scrambles around grabbing the pieces and pushing away tears.

"Paris are you-?"

She screams again, pushing my hands away.

"What, am I okay? When did you ever care if was okay or not?"

"What are you talking about, I always care-"

"You don't care, nobody cares. That's what wrong with this place, nobody cares. Everyone's just out for their own good."

"Paris, what are you talking about?"

"I'm so tired," she pushed a tear away. "I'm so tired. I do so much and get nothing back. I try so hard-"

"You don't have to try so hard, Paris. You're smart. Everyone know that, you don't have to-"

"What, I don't have to be the best at everything? You think I don't know that? You think this is fun for me? Well guess what DuGrey, people don't smile when I enter a room. People don't give me late passes. People don't ask for my opinions in class. People don't gossip about me in the lavatories. Boys don't wink at me in the halls. No one picks me up from school and presses kisses to my head. People don't pay attention to me. And I'm so tired of being responsible ... so tired of being forgotten."

"What brought this on?"

She sighs deeply, pushing her hair behind her ear.

"...She just walks in here and everyone is enamored in all that is her. She ruined everything."

"What happened?"

"Just..."

She shakes her head and stands up. Without looking at me she pulls on her backpack and walks away. She doesn't look back to see me sitting on the ground. She doesn't look back to even asses the broken puzzle at my feet.

Paris out of her element is a Paris I have but rarely seen. Although she is an enigma, there is still one part of her I do understand:

I'm so tired, too.

TBC...


	9. The Night Before

Nowhere Man

-By Yo-yo

Disclaimer:C chappie #1.

The night before:

"What in the hell do you think you're doing?"

I think my ear drum just exploded.

"…Aren't you supposed to be Stroke? Number eight seems to be nothing to you! Bring that number down, pump those legs. C'mon, jump from that catch…!"

I want to die.

"We're going to do a power of ten in two…"

A power of 10?!!! Is she crazy? I've got 30 seconds left and I've done well over a 3k. Let me be, please!

"…Two! C'mon DuGrey…nine-pump those legs…remember your technique! Six, DuGrey remember to lean back…sit up straight…four…"

Shut up! Just shut up! God, I can't take this!

"…Three…breathe-two…Ewwwwww!"

My body lunges forward and I vomit on the floor.

"I'm sorry. I wanted you to pick up...not throw up!"

She rubs my back.

"DuGrey, what happened?" Coach asks.

"Nothing, just over exerted myself," I wipe my mouth.

"Are you sure? Were you sick today?"

"I didn't eat lunch today that must be it-"

"But Trist-?"

"I'm okay," I glare at Lane.

He slaps my shoulder and nods.

"You're done for the day. Everyone, you're done, go home!"

He nods and mumbles, "I don't want another repeat of this summer."

"I'll clean up." I push away from the erg and look at the mess at my feet.

It's water mostly, transparent on blue linoleum floor. Like the watery residue of ketchup and mustard, it is yellow from the stomach acid and red from my esophagus.

"Hey DuGrey," coach calls, "make sure you're healthy tomorrow."

I nod and head towards the boys' room.

"What was that about?" Lane pokes me.

"Nothing, just trying not to make a deal of nothing."

"You sure?"

"I'm fine, Penny Lane." I ruffle her hair.

"You better be," she points her finger at me, scowling. "I'm worried about you."

"Don't be," I lean over, ready to place a kiss to her cheek, but she moves away.

"No way, I don't want to smell like puke!" She pushes me away giggling.

God, today has just been weird. First I cheat on Sadie in front of the whole school. Then Paris spazzes out, for what, I still don't know. Then Rita accosts me after classes. And finally this little incident.

Running my tongue over my teeth, I think: _If it isn't for the fact that my life isn't that interesting, I would think it was a brainchild of some nerd at the WB_.

* * *

I am walking down the vacant halls of Chilton, being reminded of the night before my freshman year. The first night The dream entered its existence and has haunted me ever since.

It is déjà-vu. The desolate halls, dark and lonely, are making me feel small again. That feeling of the unknown, the quiet… the cold draft brings back the emptiness that filled me a year and a half ago, while I lay in my bed, awake.

At that time I had no idea what to expect of high school. All I knew was what Dawson's Creek displayed. But the WB never covered freshman year, and it sure as hell didn't cover private school.

As my hand pushes the door to the courtyard open, I know I am in that dream. Because this is the moment when I always wake up… because I know this is the moment that will change my life.

* * *

It is like a dream, most of it, finding her huddled under the fountain.

Most of the time I cannot hear what she is saying, but rather, I can hear what she is not saying.

She is not one of us.

She is nothing like one of us.

She hadn't been taught the rules. She hasn't been broken.

She isn't hidden within herself.

"I need to get away from here," she breathes.

One of the first things learned of Hartford society is keep your emotions inside. Every tear, sigh, smile, and frown must be calculated. If your husband's cheating on you suck it up, if your daughter's gay ignore it, if your father hit you say you fell down the stairs, and if the IRS calls cater the party yourself.

If you can't keep up with the Jones'… you better fake it. Because if they find out, your ruined.

But she said it.

She said what we are taught not to speak.

"You're Gilmore, right? I heard…"

She was Mary.

…Far different from everyone here. Those eyes twinkled in pain… displaying any emotion she felt. She was far too innocent to be here.

"Why are you here so late?"

I look away.

Her eyes tell me what I cannot comprehend. They tell me of anger, hate, disappointment…love.

They tell me of the freedom to express and I look away… I don't have that same freedom.

But I do have something she needs:

"…tell me where you want to go…"

"Anywhere?" she trembles.

"Anywhere."

TBC…

A/N:Wow, I haven't written one of these in a long time. I missed writing to you guys. Hope you really like this story, b/c I do. Don't worry. I'm not abandoning it. And guess what?!!!!! Two chapters and then I can resume "Strawberry Fields." It's so exciting! Well, anyways, read and review… I love your reviews and since I'm not online right now I can't remember the name of the reviewer, but I liked her review b/c it made a lot of sense. She read into my characters and came up with some pretty logical assumptions. Well, we'll just have to see what actually plays out. Sorry this chapter is so short though, I didn't want to recap the entire chapter nine of SF, b/c that would just be boring. And plus Rory's point of view was imperative for that part. The next day is Tristan's Pov.

w/ luv,

Yo-yo

P. S. An erg is the name of a rowing machine. More officially it is an ergometer. If your school has one, or gym, you should use it, it gives you a full body exercise, and rowing boys are hot!


	10. Wait

Nowhere Man

-By Yo-yo

Disclaimer:C chappie #1.

Wait:

I do not need this, not tonight.

What I need is forty laps, a shower and to finish my homework. I need time to think alone. I just need-

Well it doesn't matter because I'm standing in front of the door, waiting for Eileen to let me in.

There used to be a time when I could just barge in, but Izzy broke me of that. She insisted I wait outside until I was shown in. Coming in unannounced is barbaric:

"Might as well knock me over the head with a club and drag me back to your cave," she used to say.

It's getting colder out here. The wind is cutting through my skin. I pull the lapel of my coat higher just as the front door opens.

"Tristan," Eileen grins, moving aside. "How have you been?"

She helps me pull off my coat before I can answer.

"You look tired," she shakes out the beads of moisture.

"I'm fine, Eileen."

"Have you been getting enough sleep?" she tilts her head to the side and surveys me.

I want to tell her I had gotten very little sleep last night.

I want to tell her about the girl that slept fitfully in my back seat. I want to tell Eileen how she cried and her skin stained from the red dress that she wore. I want to tell her about those blue eyes.

I want to tell her how those blue eyes ignited and flickered like flames. How they licked and burned me throughout the night. How they made my heart pound in my ears. The blue flames that reminded me of the desolate corridor in my dream… quiet and dark were those eyes that singed me from the inside out. But that's poetic and I that isn't "me."

"Where is he?"

"In the dining room." She sneaks me a glance before disappearing with my coat.

_Shit_, I groan. _Double shit._

There is only one reason why he would go to the dining room without me. And it wasn't because he was hungry.

He is pissed.

And I don't know why.

Sticking my chest out, I enter the dining room, preparing myself for another 'you screwed up' lecture.

"Good evening Gramps." I smile standing behind my chair.

He does not smile back. Instead, he cuts a piece of meat and places it into his mouth. When he does look me in the face, he wrinkles his brow.

He can see right through me. He's always been able to tell that I am nothing but a phony. He knows I spent hours in front of the mirror perfecting my look and doctoring my expressions. He knows I've spent years cultivating myself into what they all expect of me. He knows it's all a lie. He's always known I'm a lie.

I don't know how, but he knows.

"Sit down."

I do as I'm told.

"Gramps, I-"

"Where were you last night?"

_Shit, I knew he'd find out._ This morning I found five missed calls on my cell: three from Jan, one from Jason and one from Daniel. I can't answer him, which will aggravate him more. And-

"Tristan."

"Gramps, it really isn't-"

"My business? Well I beg to differ." He slams his knife down on the table for extra emphasis. "When your parents are away, you are my responsibility. I will not have you out to every hour of the night in little girls' bedrooms. Alina called at two in the morning to tell me you hadn't come home. I was scared for you, son."

"Why are you scared? You know I can take care of myself."

"Tristan, don't give me that load of BS. You're a kid. An irresponsible kid who just got his damn license and has been busted more than once for underage drinking. I had to wake Evelyn and Anthony last night, looking for you. You could have been dead. You turned off your cell. God, where the hell were you!"

I've seen Janlen angry. How can I not if I were his grandson? But I've never seen him this angry. I've never heard so many attempts at four lettered words from him. Usually he was just disappointed in me. He wished I wasn't so much like the other society kids. But now he's fucking angry.

"A friend needed my help," was all I could come up with.

"That's what you call them now, 'friends'?"

"Grandpa-"

"Its bull and you know it."

"I can't-"

"Who is she?"

"It isn't like that. I was just-"

"Tristan, how many times do I have to tell you? Stop messing around with those girls. They only want one thing and it may make you 'the man' to your friends, but it's that same stupidity that's going to ruin your life. You have living proof of that. So why do you keep making the same mistakes?"

"I didn't do that-"

"And I suppose the phone call I received from your father is proof? He's upset because Miss McIntire sent a phone call to her father to tell him she found you pressed against the locker of Miss Terlington, checking for cavities."

"Oh, you heard about that, huh?" I rub my brow.

"Heard about it? Your father lost the deal and is on his way back as we speak. I may be the least of your problems when he returns."

_Shit_, I groan. _I guess I got him back for my birthday_.

"What could you have possibly been doing all night?"

"I wasn't doing anything stupid, Gramps."

"Were you with Miss Terlington?"

"No."

"Then who?"

"Gramps, it wasn't what you think I just-"

"Who?"

"Rory Gilmore."

Realization took over and he froze. The color drains from his face and the knife, now back under his grip is being squeezed in a death grip.

"Is it who I-?" the words slithered through a taunt jaw.

"It is."

* * *

They say the most indestructible bond is between a mother and her child. It is often said she would kill for her child. She would protect his safety, his rights and his success. The mother and child bond is particularly powerful, and yet some feel as if other bonds are equally as deserving. 

Parents' need to protect their offspring is sometimes overwhelming. Fathers need to protect their daughters from the bad men in the world. Likewise, brothers feel it is their place to protect their sisters, help to preserve the family… for they are the future. The need to survive the bloodline seems to prevail. The idea of preserving the blood of the family is so deserving that even murder is worthy under certain circumstances.

The idea to protect seems to be more associated with relation. Then why do I care so much that my touch does not cause her pain? Why do I give her my clothes, and why do I help her back up when she crumples to the floor?

It is not out of the goodness of my heart. I have proven to myself countless times that I have no heart.

An anger builds inside of me. Where does this anger come from? It is creeping through me as I watch her sleep through the rearview mirror. The anger is asking the questions I do not ask, because she will not tell.

Why does she cry in a fountain in a strange place?

Why has no one come looking for her?

Why is she wearing the red dress?

Whom is she waiting for in Star's Hallow?

I watch as she twists in her sleep and wonder why I pressed the snow to her back? Why do I want to know what she dreams of? Why do I want to take her in my arms and press kisses in her hair? Why do I need to feel her by my side again? Why do I need to touch her hair and look into her eyes?

I want to protect her, from the outside demons…

And those on the inside, too.

She was different, like no one I had ever met. She was soft spoken. She flinched when I touched her skin. She looked away when she cried. She wore a white cotton bra- pink from the run of her red dress- with a tiny yellow flower at the apex and…

And…

…and a lacy black thong under a red dress.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, he stomps back into the dining room. His body language tense, and his hands balled in fists. The color now rushes to his face and he releases his anger: 

"Of all the stupid things you could do, Tristan. She hasn't been here a week and you've already pounced on a new conquest. This isn't like Miss McIntire; these are the Gilmore's. How can you be this pea-brained? I don't get it. Damnit! How am I going to explain this to Richard? How am I going to face him? Damnit!"

"Gramps, Gramps!" I stood up. "I didn't do anything. She didn't do anything. It was nothing like that."

"Like I'm going to believe that. I'm not stupid Tristan. I know what's on your mind all the time. Remember I know why your father is on his way bac-"

"Gramps, she hates me!"

That shut him up.

"She hates me. She isn't like the other girls. I turned on the DuGrey charm and it repelled her like vampires and sunlight. She tried to run from me. She hates me."

"Then why'd you spend the night with her?"

"It wasn't like that Grandpa. I found her sitting in the fountain after Crew practice. She was crying, cold and soaked. She was only wearing a dress. I couldn't just leave her there, and she didn't want to go back home."

"Why didn't you call? Why didn't you tell Alina you wouldn't be in?"

"I just wasn't thinking about it, honestly. She fell. She hurt her back; I just took her where she wanted to go."

"And where was that?"

"I took her to Star's Hallow. We slept in my car. The next morning her Mom woke us up. You can ask her, her name is Lorelei. We ate breakfast at her place and I drove to school. A doctor saw her. She bruised her back badly."

"Why didn't you say anything, son?"

"Well, considering how much she seemed to enjoy my company last night I didn't think she'd want it floating around her new school that she'd spent the night with me. And she just really needed someone at that time. She didn't need questions and she didn't need it getting out. She just…"

I can feel his eyes on me as I look away. There's color in my face too, but I do not know why. I am not blushing and I am not angry… something happened last night… he could see it and I could feel it. I just wish I knew what it was…

He takes his seat at the head of the table and resumes the meal he'd abandoned half an hour again. He motions for me to take my seat and we sit in silence, letting the clinking of the silverware on the china be our soundtrack for the night.

Finally, some time later, he speaks,

"I'm very proud of you, son. After dinner I'm going to make a call to Richard, just to reassure him his granddaughter was in safe hands last night. I would also like to thank you myself for finally doing the right thing. I never knew I would live to see the day that the son of Loren would do something selfless."

I nod with my face in my plate.

"So, are you sleeping here tonight?"

I nod again; it is not often that Jan thanks me…

* * *

I've never met someone who'd never lived in a house before. 

To her and her mother, a house held a type of permanency that they had never fallen to. They moved around all her life, like gypsies, finding their own places for themselves in their own world. They never really became part of the communities they had decided to participate in for a limited time.

I could see that it bothered her more than she let on. There was no sense of family. There was no feeling of comfort. She had seen herself as a stranger most of her life. She never saw herself in the people when they relocated. She and her mother drifted… but never really belonged.

In her eyes, I could see what her lips had not said.

Something washed over me. Maybe it was the ocean in her eyes. Maybe it was the storm her character projected since I'd met her, but I could not tear my eyes from her when I thought in a whisper,

"I can't describe who or what you are…but I want to tell you-"

"Honey, are you okay?" Lorelei's words cut short the conversation and she pulled her eyes from mine.

"…in here…" she said...

In half an hour I am changed and fed, almost ready for Chilton.

"Hey Tristan, thanks again." Lorelei called from the kitchen where she sat with the doctor as he explained the prescription to her.

"No problem," I called, walking over to the living room where she sat cross-legged eating a burger for breakfast.

I grabbed my jacket, bid her farewell and began to leave.

"Wait," her voice called, stopping me instantly.

"Yes?" I turned around.

She avoided my gaze as she put down her burger and wiped her hand on a napkin.

"Thanks a lot Tristan," she whispered. "I don't believe I've said that."

"You didn't."

"Well, thanks for not leaving me there to die, and for putting up with my bitchy attitude."

"Sure."

"And well…" she searched around the whole room, trying to look for something to say. I must admit I anticipated what she said next. I wanted her to say those words… for a moment I wanted her to be just like all the other girls…

"Tristan… can you… would you…?"

"Yeah?"

"Would you please not tell anyone what transpired last night? I know it would mean keeping secrets from your friends… but…I just…I don't want people to-"

Well that was dumb of me. Wanting her to be just like the other dimwits when what I liked about her was that she was different. I knew she was different… but that still didn't keep me from being disappointed.

"I get it," I pushed my hair back. "You're new. You don't want rumors to start on your second day. I won't tell anyone. You don't have to worry your pretty little head."

A look of confusion enveloped her face as she let a smile pull her lips.

"Thanks. I just don't want to be known as the Insta-slut in my first week at Chilton."

"Whatever."

"Thanks." She smiled.

I left.

TBC...

P.S. Sorry this has taken for ever. but as i learned in college... i have absolutely no creativity there. it sux. so i'm home now, and hopefully can deliver these next chapters at a faster pace. thanks for all ur reviews. i may revise this chapter, so u should read it again in like a week. anyways... have fun this summer. be safe, esp so u can read and review this fic. . Hope everyone likes this... read and review please. this is my favorite fic, and i'd like to continue it. bye

-w/ luv,

Yo-yo


	11. I've Just Seen a Face

Nowhere Man

-By Yo-yo

Disclaimer: C chappie #1.

I've just seen a face:

"…practically joined at the hip…"

"She's really nice, though. And she knows a lot about music."

Louise and Madeline join me.

"What, jealous?" Jase chuckles.

"No, I just never thought I'd meet another Lane."

The daggers that shoot from Louise's eyes in their direction don't escape me.

I can see what she means. Yesterday they spoke of nothing but music- most of it I'd never heard of before. They had found a lot in common-

"Instant kindred spirits," she rolls her eyes and pushes from the locker she'd been leaning on.

They are a lot alike. Their eclectic tastes disrupt the uniformity Chilton was built upon. Their rebellion threatens the conformity on which Hartford society thrives.

They are the answers to the _Highlights_ books:

Which of these things do not belong?

"Hey Man, where were you last night? I tried your cell a few times."

"Jan's, I haven't touched my phone since practice on Wednesday."

"I didn't think you'd go anywhere near the old man after the incident. He was pissed when he called my house that night."

"Well," I push the cafeteria doors open. "I'd rather deal with 'the old man' rather than 'my old man' who's on his way back as we speak."

"Ha," he claps my back, "serves you right, making out with Terlington."

"You only say that because you wished it were you," I smirk.

"You think you're funny. But may I remind you, Margaret Terlington and I have- how shall I say, intertwined on several occasions," he set his bag on the table. "And having realized how desperate she is for Any cock, I've kept my distance. She's dirty, and I don't need that."

"I agree, but she was there and so was Sadie. I'd do anything to get rid of that needy whore, even make out with a dumb one."

"You guys are mean." Lane punches my arm and settles beside me.

Jason laughs. "Where's Tweedle-Dee, Tweedle-Dum?"

"Huh?"

"He's referring to your new best friend, Mary."

"Tristan," she admonishes me. "I can't believe you call her that. Gosh, you're such an ass."

"What's up?" Paris puts her tray on the table.

"Tristan's being his usually crude self," she shoots me a glare.

"Anyways," Jason thrusts a Tupperware dish at me. "Mom made your favorite. She wanted me to give this to you."

"Stuffed peppers and chili, the lunch of champions," I thrust my fork in the dish.

"Maybe you should save the chili for after practice," Lane frowns. "The combination of spicy food and beans could lower your erg scores, and today is Friday."

I groan.

Two K days are the bane and highlight of my existence. It sucks because we have to do two thousand meters in the shortest amount of time possible three times. But after all we do is a technical warm-down and the day is over. We're out 45 minutes early.

"I told you to join soccer." Jason dips his spoon into his own chili.

"Tease." I frown, gulping down water.

"So, party at Janet's, everyone still up for it?" Lane munches on a slice of pizza.

"I'm up," Louise grins.

"Me too," Maddie chirps.

"Rory, what about you?"

She startles at her name, her eyes jumping from the page of the book she is reading.

Jude the Obscure… hmm. Interesting choice on her part.

"Do you want to go to a party with us Saturday night?"

A blush rushes to her face as she finds everyone's eyes on her. She looks away. Her eyes finding cover in the printed pages of the book.

"I can't, we're moving that day. And I have to catch up on a week and half of missing assignments."

"Fine," Louise turns away, a knowing smirk on her face.

I cannot understand girls.

* * *

_'So, what do you think of the Gilmore chick?'_

Jason's sloppy scrawl broke me of my daydream about Evie's chili.

_'Exactly what I've been saying all along, a Mary. You saw the way she blushed when Lane asked her that question? Classic Mary reaction.'_ I reply.

_'No, didn't see her blush, but she's definitely shy. Really quiet. Lane says she reads a lot.'_

_'Been asking Lane about her? What, you like her or something?'_

_'No, she's just different, ya know? Don't meet too many of them in these hallowed halls.'_

I nod as I read his words. Her being not like everyone else just draws you to her. You want to know her because she is an enigma in our world. There's not much mystery here.

_'I agree.'_ I write back, just about to slip the answer to him when-

"Mr. DuGrey, come to my desk please."

I gulp and look up at Dr. Marx.

He's looking at me expectantly and I know he can see the swatch of paper between my fingers.

Standing up, I make my way towards his desk, casually sticking the note in my pants pocket as I pray my expression doesn't betray the humiliation I am about to endure.

"Dr. Marx?" I stand before him.

"Here," he hands me a folded note to my surprise. "A message from the office."

I can't believe it. I didn't even notice the office girl slipping through the door.

"Take your seat Mr. DuGrey," annoyance laces his voice.

"Oh yea," I smirk. "Thanks." I stroll back to my desk, flicking the correspondence note back to Jase as I sit.

I open the office letter that reads:

_I, Coach Dempsey, will excuse Tristan DuGrey from practice on Friday, January -, 2001, by request of his family member, a Mr. Loren DuGrey, father. Aforementioned family member has requested that said student, Tristan DuGrey, immediately vacate the Chilton Campus, to be enforced by faculty and staff with the approved punishment of school suspension. Upon vacating the property, said student, Tristan DuGrey must proceed home, entering the building no later than 3:15 pm. End of request, Dempsey._

Shit, I groan, re-reading the letter. I guess he is REALLY pissed.

_'What's the note about?'_ Jason flicks the note on my desk.

I do not reply, but rather toss the office note onto his desk, wondering what is to await me back at the house.

The end of class bell rings throughout the halls and I sigh.

"Whoa!" Jase hands the note back and grabs his bag. "Remind me not to make out with a girl in the halls."

* * *

Alina's not there to greet me at the door. I know she has heard the car advancing. The gate informs the house of an approaching car. Something He got installed after narrowly missing Her catching Him with a 'client.'

There's no one in the foyer. I can hear commotion coming from upstairs.

I race to my room.

Standing outside my open door is Alina with an envelope in her hands and a frown on her face.

My name is written on His business stationary in His secretary's handwriting. Inside, it reads:

_Tristan, we regret to inform you that due to your voluntary defiance, you must suffer the ramifications. Everything that brings you joy in your young life will be taken away from you as of Friday, January -, 2001, at 3:15 pm. All of the items taken will be returned to you at an undetermined time. As part of your negotiation, you are to meet with your father for dinner at 6:30 pm. In the time between then, you will remain in your room, no interactions with anyone except the maid. Signed, Loren DuGrey._

Just like Him, indirect parenting. He didn't even sign it.

Inside, my room- raped of all electronics. My cd collection- gutted and placed into boxes. The only possessions that pull electricity from the walls are my lamps and my alarm clock.

By four, everything is gone.

My former life as a playboy is gone and my life as an inmate in my own house, beginning.

I sit on my bed, staring at the walls I have never seen before. Walls that have been concealed since I can remember. Hidden with the people They decided I would admire. The walls suffocated by the bands They decided I would listen to.

Sitting on my bed I can hear it approaching me. Pushing the walls closer and I am suddenly claustrophobic. And the white walls are producing a white noise that pounds in my ears and keeps the time with the dripping water from the leaky faucet in my bathroom. And I cannot hear because the silence is deafening and piece by piece it is tearing into me, ripping me whole. I need to stop it somehow. Because I know why it is here. I know why the white walls pound. Why the white noise presses against my head.

I am alone with myself.

I launch into the closet, pushing past sports coats and trousers, under rows of shoes and a collection of ties, on the other side of khakis and polos, until I am in the jewelry box.

Beneath the Rolex and Cartier watches, under the silver and gold chains passed through DuGrey generations, deeper past the ring I will someday give to the girl I love, it lays nestled… a secret compartment where my secret stash in my secret flask of Daddy's most expensive scotch.

It goes down so smooth and packs a real punch… the punch is what I'm after. It's what I need.

Above the drawer in the mirror I've just seen a face. So beautiful and oh so sad it looks right back at me. A look asking for pity, begging for validation… but only through his eyes because although he doesn't want to admit it, he's just like them. He can read them all.

He is just like those he despises, he needs validation too.

Only there is no one there to give it to him.

TBC…


	12. A Hard Day's Night

Nowhere Man

-By Yo-yo

Disclaimer:C chappie #1.

A/N:I'm sorry, I realized at some point I started writing Tristan's voice in the present, so I'm trying to transition this smoothly and accommodate this in my old chapters. They won't be changed very much, only the tenses will be changed and sorry if it's a little confusing. As I was changing the tenses I realized how confusing it really was. So much past and present is wrapped in this fic that even in sentences I have mixed tenses. Sorry if this really annoys you, I'm trying. Also for those of you who have read my Strawberry Fields, I've decided that before I start a new chapter I am going to re-write the old ones. I am in love with the style in which I have written Nowhere Man, and since these are two parts of the same story, I have decided to update SF, so probably look for a new chapter of that fic in say, middle of Feb. and with that new chapter, read the old ones; they'll be changed around a little.

-Yo-yo

A Hard Day's Night:

"'Sir," I swaggered into the dining room. "Sorry to use your first name; but I've been doing some heavy drinking…"

'I stumbled onto the chair closest to him and laughter swelled from me as I looked up at him and covered my mouth.

"'Oops!" I laughed again. "I meant, I've been doing some heavy _thinking_, and I've come to the decision that it's _you_," I pointed, "that should be grounded.

"'I mean you've taught me everything that I know. And if it hadn't been for your lousy negotiating skills, I would have never had to get rid of Miss McIntire in my most creative way." I grinned and nudged him a little. "I mean, if you could have just closed the deal, I mean that in the literal sense, not what you've done with your secretary on I'm guessing every piece of furniture in this mansion. If you could have- wait, what was I talking about? Oh yea, closing the deal, which Lacey-wait, not her name… it was Hailey? Well, she has relayed some high opinions of you I may add. If you had-"

"And then I woke up here," I shake my head, turning to Jan who sits beside me mimicking me.

"You're dumb, you know that?"

"Yea, I've been called that a few times in my day," I nod. "But I have a theory."

"A theory as to why you're an idiot?"

"I think I am genetically predisposed to it, Gramps." I drink more coffee.

"What are you trying to say?"

"That no matter how far you've transcended the title of disappointment, I'm sure your parents saw you as so when you were my age too. All DuGrey men are pre-disposed to the fuck-up gene."

"Tristan, watch your language. And the key is to fight the stereotypes, not let your predisposition become a crutch…and excuse."

"I'm trying Gramps."

"Obviously not well enough," he stands up and deposits his mug into the sink. "Now go put on your coat and shovel the driveway."

"What?"

"You're still getting punished. You did the offense, and now you must pay the price for your stupidity."

"But Gramps, I saved the Gilmore girl's life, shouldn't I get something for that?"

"Oh yea, about that, our dinner next Thursday will be changed to Friday. Emily and Richard have invited us to dinner to thank you for your chivalry."

I groan, that sounds more like a punishment rather than a reward.

A few hours later- you have no idea how long his driveway is- I am dressing for dinner. I am down the stairs from my room when I hear the doorbell ring and I hear His voice.

"What are you doing here?" the first words from my lips.

"I'm here for dinner and to finish that talk we never got to last night."

"Don't expect to win father of the year just because you punished me," I walk past Him into the dining room where Janlan sits.

"Father, I don't understand how you deal with this boy." He mutters taking His seat across from me.

"He's much more agreeable when he isn't forced into something against his will. Quite like you when you were his age." Janlan replied, opening his napkin across his lap, not looking up.

"So you're here to negotiate, what the hell do you want?" I seethe.

He shakes His head, a smile on His face.

"No young man, that's something you need to understand. It is not I who needs to negotiate; you have nothing that I want. It is you who needs to show some skill and finesse. It is you who needs to convince me of what you need. It is you who needs to rob me of my shirt, as they say, with little consciousness to me.

"You believe that I am an oaf. You infer that I could not bargain with McIntire. You insist that I am ignorant for my professional position. Well this is your time to prove me wrong. This is your time to show me how superior you are, how inferior I compare to your 'greatness'. Well here is your chance.

"But just remember this; it is DuGrey blood, my blood that makes you the way that you are. It is me that has shaped every aspect of your life. Your understanding of this world, the way you are perceived, the way that you deal with dilemmas, it is under my tutelage, the characteristics that you inherited from me that have created you into the man that you are. The way you walk, talk, smirk and scrutinized the people around you is my cunning you have been given. It is my negotiating skills that you know, it is I that taught you to be cut throat. So no matter how this comes out, everything you know, you learned from me."

* * *

"I see you're taking a leaf from my book, hiding in plain sight," I sigh, sitting beside her on the couch.

She'd found my hiding place in the sitting room by the main entrance and is currently curled up with a notebook.

"Studying, I have a chemistry test today," she glances up before her eyes dive back into her notes.

She always does that, I notice.

Like I hide in the sitting room, she hides behind written words. Every time that I see her around this place her eyes are in books, notebooks and newspapers. She walks around this place engrossed in anything except her peers (excluding Lane of course, her new best friend). I never see her interacting with anyone, never putting herself out there. She's always occupied…

Talk about hiding in plain sight.

"Yea, I studied for that last night," I rest my feet on an Ethan Allen catalog table. "If you want, I can test you?"

"That's alright," she mutters. "I view studying as a solitary activity."

"Oh, I guess I should go then."

I stand up.

"No," she puts down her book and looks at me. "I'm only skimming over my notes. It's my first test, ya' see, I don't want to fuck it up. Headmaster Charleston already gave me a lecture when I got in. I don't want to let anyone down. "

"…Letting anyone down?" I hear her words, but I do not understand. "Who could you possibly be letting down?"

"Everyone, my mom, my grandparents…"

"That's everyone?"

"Everyone that matters," she shrugs her shoulders, her eyes still on me, and a curious look on her face.

"How could you possibly be letting them down? They adore you. I've seen the way your mother looks at you, how much she cares for you. She goes searching for you when she doesn't find you in your bed in the morning. She could never be disappointed in you. And your grandparents… from what Emily told me on New Years Eve, you're the answer to her prayers. She loves you."

She is reading me like one of her books, I know.

At that moment, as her blue eyes peruse my face, I am notebook paper. Words sloppily scrawled all over my face, but she is not to be distracted by the trivial. She knows what she is looking for. She can read between the lines. She can see what is not there. Those eyes dissect me in a way very few people have cared to attempt.

"If I tell you something, will you promise not to tell anyone?"

A promise.

I have only known her for a few days, and already I am keeping her secrets.

I nod.

"I know that there are a lot of rumors going around about my Mom: about how she didn't get along with her parents and how she got pregnant and ran away. And that stuff is true. The fact that we've never lived in one place, never owned a house, and have never been stable is due in part to my mother's rocky relationship with her parents.

"My mom has always worked. She's always fed me. She's always been really good at taking care of me. But I want to go to Harvard, and this is my best shot. And she doesn't have the type of money to put me through a place like this.

"My grandparents are paying for Chilton. And my mother is sacrificing her own disdain for her parents so that I can get my dream. Look Tristan, I'm not who you think I am. This time I can't let her down after she's given up so much for me. And I can't let my grandparents down after they've tried so hard to get me in here."

"That's noble…"

She looks away, but I can still hear her mutter,

"It's not nobility, it is atonement."

A few moments of silence fall between us, before she turns back with a grin.

"So what has you 'hiding in plain sight'?"

I take her change of subject in stride.

From what I've seen of her so far, Rory Gilmore is direct when she wants to be. She is also hidden when she needs to be.

"I didn't attend the party this weekend."

"And why's that? I thought you were all for it Friday?"

"I was all for it- can you not repeat any of this conversation to anyone else please?"

She nods.

She has only known me for a few days, and already she is keeping my secrets.

"I was grounded."

She gasps, covering her mouth with her hands, her face contorted in a comical "o".

"So what?" she laughs.

"I've never been grounded before. And I've never missed a party before."

"How can you have never been grounded before?"

I know she can read me.

"You're friends have been bugging you about the party?"

And I am right.

She looks at me, and she knows. She knows what to ask, she knows what I will not answer.

"The whole fucking school's bugging me about it," I sigh sitting back again.

"What are you going to tell them… you're going to have to say something?"

She's right.

"I dunno…"a smile begins to crawl up my face as wheels begin to turn in my brain. "I could always say I was occupied."

"Occupied with what?" she laughs, "Chores?"

I turn to her,

"I could have been showing the new Mary around our city. I could tell them I was having 'a **hard** day's night, and I've been **workin'** like a dog,'" I move closer. "That wouldn't totally be lying."

"No way," she laughs her eyes on mine now. "I will not be your alibi, especially for reasons so crass. You need an excuse, look for one more willing. I hear Rita Terlington would kill to work you like a dog."

Her brow is cocked and her lips are turned upward. If I'd known her better, I'd think she was flirting with me.

"Mary Mary, quite contrary, what gossip have you been hearing about me?" I lean close to her ear, my breath tickling her skin.

"Nothing really, just your family's got an excess of silver bells and cockle shells, and that you keep pretty maids all in a row."

Okay, I was wrong. I don't really know her. But she _is_ flirting with me.

Our faces are so close. I can feel myself drawing closer… just another inch and my lips are on her skin. Just another inch and she'll be-

"I need to finish looking over my notes." She shifts away from me, her eyes moving back to her discarded notebook.

"Yea," I move away, my voice coming out much too husky for my liking. I clear my throat. "Any you 'view studying as a solitary activity.'"

"Yea," she sighed, not looking up.

"Okay then, I'll leave you to your-"

I pick up a random magazine and totally ignore her.

Our silence stretches until the bell rang. We don't look at one another as we grab our bags and head to class.

* * *

"Hey man, where were you Saturday night?"

It is Daniel and Austin.

"There was a girl," I lie easily, my eyes scanning the mass of students looking for her.

We have not spoken since our day in hiding earlier this week. We slid into our roles of strangers easily. She didn't even bat an eyelash when I called her Mary. She'd gotten used to it. It was an automatic response now,

"It's Rory." She says.

It's also been a week since the accident. I notice the way she stiffly sits in her seat. I have noticed the way she winces slightly when she bends wrongly.

I had to do it, I know it was risky, with our masks of strangers placed for the students of Chilton, but I can't watch it anymore. I need to know.

And there she is, coming out of French, a little late. She always waited for everyone else to leave. Her eyes hidden within the pages of her book, looking up just in time too see the last of her peers ebb out of the classroom before she grabs her things and leaves.

She hides when she needs to.

She goes to her locker. She opens it, and a note trickles to the floor. She leans down to read it, her hair falling in her face, shielding her eyes from me as she reads the words I can remember writing.

_So how's your back? I forgot to ask…_

Her eyes find mine, even through the throng of students our gazes hold. She smiles a little, giving me a little nod before mouthing,

"Sore."

I nod towards her, and we turn away together. She goes back to her books, and I return to Austin's anecdote about a freshman who didn't know how to give proper head.

TBC…

A/N:What? Rory and Tristan flirting? Omg! I'm as surprised as you are. When I wrote this I had no idea this was going to happen. It's funny… I love when characters have a mind of their own. It makes my job so much more exciting. Okay. Now that this chapter is written, **please review**. I was checking my stats, and so many people read, but they don't **review** and that sucks. B/c I want your criticism, so **please**. Help a starving artist (I'm really starving; I'm in college and can't afford anything except Oodles of Noodles)! **Just press Go! and write something**. It doesn't have to be an epic. Be critical, tell me my mistakes, I know there are tons, every time I read this fic I find more. **Just give me something!**

-w/ luv, Yo-yo


	13. Helter Skelter

Nowhere Man

-By Yo-yo

Disclaimer: C chappie #1.

A/N: I am taking liberties with the movies and their release dates. We're just going to pretend that they all existed within the same timeframe. And by the way, this chapter's rating is bumped to an M. Be aware.

Helter Skelter:

"_Those who are tardy do not get fruit cup."__- High Anxiety_

I have imposed a self-mandated solitary confinement.

In the halls, I've become untouchable, no one dares approach. I ignore the daily noise pollution until my footsteps against the polished floors become the deafening march to my next destination. I don't take lunch anymore. I sit in the library, secluded in the most abandoned corner, disinterested in the prattle of my peers.

At home, the sentencing is imposed upon me, but no more limiting. In my bedroom it is as though the support staff has been outfitted with velvet treads on the soles of their shoes. No noise filters itself through my door. I cannot hear Ana passing by, a closing door, even the delicate chime of the doorbell has been muffled, turning every room into a soundless enclosure where He is the only one allowed to peek and see if I am still alive.

For three weeks, I have not even had contact with Jan. His attempts on my behalf have been put down by His ego. After the conversation at Jan's house, He has made sure that His will be enforced. As soon as we returned to the house, after my drunken diatribe, the walls in my bedroom were stripped to a startling bone white, the alcohol cleared from all the nooks and crannies, leaving nothing but an aluminum alarm clock to document the passing time.

My world has been arrested at the demise of a business deal.

The only thing that keeps me going arrives on little scraps of paper in my locker.

* * *

"_The only true currency in this bankrupt world is what you share with someone else when you're uncool."__- Almost Famous_

The straightness of her back curves awkwardly against the straight lines that dictate the architecture of the Gilmore's estate. As she sits on the concrete pillar, her midnight blue dress holds her spine into place. I don't know the material, something like satin, holds like a corset around her torso, with no straps keeping it in place. But above the lines of the material, her shoulder blades and shoulders curve over her bust as she raises the cigarette to her lips.

She is moving with practiced ease, thinking it makes her look like an experienced smoker and I don't want to break her heart. Practiced ease never describes a proper smoker. Only a novice would savor the flavor of the tobacco or focus on the sexy emission of smoke from her lips. A true smoker is an addict, focused solely on the nicotine, the flood of calm that slows and thickens the blood. A real smoker is never at ease. They are constantly in pursuit of the nicotine hit to pacify the need for another cigarette. They smoke fast and hard and without pleasure.

She's too green to see that we're both acting.

"So I see you're still grounded?"

Her eyes don't look in my direction as she emits another steady stream of smoke. She moves her torso away from me to flick the ash from the end of her cigarette and I cannot help the wave of lust that flushes my system. She may not be an actual smoker, but she is damn sexy playing the part.

I nod, watching as her body settles into its previous position, my eyes following the light on her skin, in her dress, reflected off her jewelry and into her eyes.

"Do you know when you'll be free?"

I shrug, finishing my cigarette and stuffing the bud deep in the potted plant on the end of the balcony.

As I return my gaze to her form, I watch as she shivers in the night air. It is February and we have been sitting out here for a little while. Like a chivalrous man, I remove my sports coat and wrap it around her shoulders. At this, she finally looks at me.

"You can see that I'm wearing like fifteen pounds of material, right?"

"Unfortunately, your shoulders are bare." I smile moving close and place my arms beneath the coat, to capture some of her warmth.

"Oh, I get it now," she smiles, finally finishing her cigarette. I take the bud from her fingers and place it in the pot with mine.

"Just an excuse to get close."

She laughs out loud, and so do I.

"You're a jerk at school."

She shifts her hand to my knee.

"I know," I sigh, realizing my fingers have begun making circles above her dress, on the warmth of her skin. "I'm supposed to be."

She nods and looks away again.

I don't know if her hand on my knee is meant to stop the motion of my fingers, but as we sit in silence, her thumb begins to trace its own circles.

This isn't the first time we've been in a situation like this one, where my hormones have gotten the best of me, but this is the first time that she has attempted to reciprocate. I want to push further, as usual, but as I turn my face towards hers, and she moves her face toward mine, the look in her eyes and the firm yet easy grip on my thigh lets me know this is all it can be.

With our noses, and lips so close, I can almost taste her. Our warm breath mingles and we can both feel the pull of attraction.

"Tristan…" she breathes, her eyelids lowering to my lips, her eyelashes fluttering against the bridge of my nose.

"I…" I begin.

"No," she shakes her head, bringing her eyes back to mine, our lips so close, perfectly aligned to touch… "I don't know how I'd manage without you."

Her words shock me from her, my back straightens and my fingers fall from her skin.

In the short amount of time that we have known one another, a relationship that I have never even believed possible has been developing. In her eyes, I see what I mean to her.

For a moment, I don't know how to behave. I have never been in this situation, and for that moment, I feel like I am betraying something or someone. The next moment, I have arisen, an apology in my eyes as my legs begin to take me away from her.

"Tristan," she whispers, realizing her misstep, as her eyes begin to twinkle with burgeoning tears ready to crest.

"Your jacket!" She finds the words to halt me.

"You'll be cold." I say, at my place near the door.

"There will be questions. They'll ask what we were doing out here."

"Rory, I…" I begin, but she comes up to me and puts the jacket on my shoulders before fisting away the tears that will ruin her meticulously painted face.

"Just take your coat. I'm sorry. I'll wait a few minutes and leave after you."

"It's just, I have to be home on time. I'm grounded." I offer her an untruth to cut the truth just realized.

She nods, moving away from me, back to her place on the ledge.

I feel like a heel, just leaving her there with tears in her eyes, in the cold, as I escape an awkward situation.

* * *

"_I love my dead gay son."__ -__Heathers_

Every minute of my day has been prescribed a duty.

When I wake up in the morning, I am allowed my morning ablutions. But from breakfast, to the end of my day, I have been efficiently scheduled. Frank lets me out of the car within five minutes of the late bell. He had scheduled it to a tee. This way, I can only run to my locker before making it into homeroom. If I am late, a call reaches Him within the hour.

This morning as I make my way to my homeroom seat, I pass Lane and Mary working on origami crafts. Mary doesn't look up when I pass, but Lane smiles and says,

"Morning, Tristan."

"Hi Penny, Mary," I nod in their direction, settling in my seat behind her.

"My name is Rory," she replies automatically, concentrating on the small intricate folds nearly too fine for her fingers.

Our words end at the sound of the bell.

* * *

"_I've been listening to my gut since I was 14 years old, and frankly speaking, I've come to the conclusion that my guts have shit for brains."__- High Fidelity_

My place in the library is located deep within the government section, rarely visited during the day. Within the deepest recesses of the library, in the warmest area, dark and windowless, I spend my lunch in solitude.

As I round the corner to my spot, moments after the third lunch bell rings, I find my place occupied.

I don't know when she snuck in, but we both know she's in my space.

"What are you doing here?"

"Reading." She keeps her eyes well-trained on her page.

"I can see that. Can you do it somewhere else?"

She shakes her head.

"I like this place: quiet and secluded."

"I know. It's why I come here. In fact, the reason why it's so quiet and secluded is because people know I've claimed it."

"Self-fulfilling prophesy, huh?"

"I suppose."

From my position above her, I can see she is reading a novel.

"Are you doing work for school?"

"What do you care?"

"I need to know to what greater plan I am contributing when I lend you space on my floor."

"You aren't kicking me out anymore?"

Her eyes leave her page and finally reach mine.

"I suspect your inherent goodness will upgrade me a few rings in hell."

"You're an idiot if you think I can uplift you," she frowns, ignoring my backhanded compliment. "I also expected more of a fight," her eyes return to her book.

"What can I say, the view from here is phenomenal."

She looks up to me, giving me the perfect view down her shirt. In the few moments that we can steal to ourselves in Chilton, we act as perfect adversaries.

"Not as phenomenal as my view every morning," she counters, with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

I kneel down to her level, and push,

"You know, no one is around, you can give me a proper viewing."

And with that, she slams her fist into the toe of my shoe, and suddenly, I am on my back on the library floor, trying not to curse aloud.

In the halls of Chilton, we don't take our roles to heart. Instead, we take them in stride, pushing our relationship as far as we can within the parameters of our prescribed relationship. When the pain abates, I sink into a seat next to her. I am silent for a few minutes as I watch her read, her fingers twisting her hair. Finally, annoyed with my attention, she sighs,

"You don't have anything to do?" She's looking at me again.

"You've interrupted my ability to be productive. What are you doing here anyway?"

"What am I always doing?" she sighs again.

I don't know how to characterize our relationship. I couldn't call what Mary and I do a friendship. We aren't by any means in a relationship. We seem to only find one another when searching for solace.

"Hiding again?"

She nods, bringing her eyes back to the pages.

"From whom?"

"Everyone." She shrugs scooting closer to me so that our bodies touched.

"Why?"

She doesn't look at me when she says,

"It's the only way I could guarantee time with you."

"With me?"

"Look, don't get too excited. It won't happen much. I can't have people finding out. But besides Lane, you're my only ally in this place. And with this never-ending punishment in place, this is the only way I can talk to you for real."

"I'm honored." I smile, knowing she can feel it even if she doesn't look up to see.

"You're ego's honored," I can feel her smile, pushing her hair behind her ear and placing her head on my shoulder.

"I want to put my arms around you and let you lean against me…"

"It's a bad idea." She sits up, "Can you do me a favor and make up with your Dad? I don't like sneaking around."

I nod as she shuts her book and stands up.

"Bye." She leaves me to my space.

I nod and wonder,

What the fuck's an ally, anyway?

* * *

"_I mean, say what you like about the tenets of National Socialism, Dude, at least it's an ethos."__- The Big Lebowski_

A scrap of paper makes its way onto my desk.

If it weren't for the stacks of contrasting, pristine printer paper, I would have never noticed the solitary, blue striped crumpled ball. Before my hand moves over the sharp, rounded, spherical plane, I mentally prepare myself for a letdown.

For four weeks, after class I have been escorted from the courtyard five minutes before the dismissal bell excuses my peers. Fred drives me from the meticulously manufactured warmth of Chilton, to the deliberately devised coolness of DuGrey Corporation. Grey steel, white walls and highly reflective black marble tile contrasts the dark wood, egg shell walls and white marble squares. A desk in a small room adjacent to His office has been designated for me (although I can safely assume that His "executive assistant" has been relocated to accommodate me). I spend three hours there every day.

After He determined that my prowess came from His "tutelage," I was forced into this role, forced into the little room where He kept His secrets.

For the three hours a day that I spend in the office, no one is allowed in.

My only interactions are with Him and Mr. Dumel, His business partner.

Which is why the sudden appearance of misplaced stationery attracts my attention.

But I don't have the time to contemplate anomalies; I have a meeting with Mr. Dumel and Him.

"… I was looking over the notes, and maybe the best way to target the young market is not necessarily by adopting the language, but actually adopting the look. We need to place a face to the brand that exemplifies that target audience."

An hour later, they are finally listening to me.

"Do you have suggestions?" Mr. Dumel leans forward, intrigued by a possibility that hasn't yet been suggested.

"If we're looking to target the burgeoning young adults, fresh faced and entering college in the fall, someone like Anne Hathaway, Jenna Malone, or even the lesser known, British born Carrie Mulligan? I have headshots if those names are unfamiliar to you."

He loudly clears his throat,

"And why do you believe that the carefully researched brand wouldn't be successful as marketing has developed?"

"The internet, TV, every movie?" I scoff, "…images are becoming more prevalent and pertinent to brand legitimacy. Things that before were visible because of their ubiquity suddenly need websites, and models posed in mid-use and someone recognizable to make relevant. O.M.G.s and L.M.A.O.s are already passé."

"Interesting," Mr. Dumel smiled, pulling away and penciling more notes in his Moleskin. "The work you've been doing here is really top notch. I'll pass this on to marketing and publicity and see what develops."

"Thanks," I said standing with him. He reluctantly follows our move.

"Good job, young man," he frowns, exiting the small room.

When they leave, I sit back in my chair and look back at the small scrap. I know I shouldn't even be tempted to open it.

This last month and a half have been slightly cathartic. Not being with girls in the halls, inviting them home to my bed, fighting over bullshit in the halls has been nice. Even the secret, futile pursuit of Mary has been refreshing.

But a scrap of notebook paper is on my desk, resembling the pieces I've found in my locker and like the ones at school, I am unable to act on whatever may be written inside.

I finger the small ball in my hands unsure of what to do. I have been a saint for a month and a half now.

I open the scrap of paper and read:

_After your meeting, your father is scheduled to have a 45 minute meeting with his executive secretary. I took the initiative to schedule a corresponding meeting with me in the men's lavatory. I'll bring the condom._

_ -J_

I have been a saint for a month and a half, but that letter wakes up the devil in me.

A 'Closed for Service' sign hangs on the men's room door when I enter. Jamie, the nineteen-year-old office intern is already inside.

"Hi," she purrs, standing at the other side of the room, a finger in her mouth as she sucks on it suggestively.

I don't say anything as I crash into her, my tongue diving deep into her mouth, searching for the sweet taste I have abstained from for so long. She reciprocates, her fingers making their way from my stomach, to my chest, over my shoulders to settle in my hair as her tongue strokes mine, and her tongue ring clicks against my soft palete.

In reality, I am not interested in her, but as her hips push aggressively, and suggestively, against mine, my body goes into auto-mode. I turn our bodies and press her against the wall, loving the feel of her warmth against mine. She is wearing a stiff, tight skirt, which will not relent to being pulled up to her hips; so instead, we unzip it together, impatient for our mutual release. With her skirt pulled down and discarded across the room, she does something I did not expect. She kneels to her knees, unzips my pants and pulls my member into her mouth.

Although this wasn't anticipated, it is appreciated as she moves from shaft to tip, with practiced ease, using her lips, her tongue and her tongue piercing as I'm sure she's done a million times before. Her ministrations give me nothing to do but pant. I put my hands in her hair, as she deep throats me and I groan as her fingers stroke my scrotum and squeeze my balls. She's good. Really good. I moan as she moves away, shimmies against me and jumps up, wrapping her legs around my midsection.

In a moment, she is against the wall, my member is at her pulsing entrance and my finger is pulling her soaking panties to the side. I haven't returned the favor, but at this point, I don't know if I can without embarrassing myself. I am about to plunge myself deep within her warmth before she whispers,

"Better safe than sorry, Mr. DuGrey." And she, without looking, rips open the foil package and rolls the condom on me before I plunge into her sex.

If you've never known heaven, you've never been between the legs of a woman. Soft, warm, wet, tight and pulsing, this place, the cradle of life is the gift to men. Women can't plunge themselves in this glorious place where nothing but my instincts can survive and produce the closest thing to heaven on earth. She pants above me, moans when my thumb finds her center and gasps when her orgasm rocks her center and her body begins to milk me. I move within her until I can't take it anymore and cum inside.

I hold onto her, as we both regain our breath. When we finally are breathing normal, I pull myself from her, and place her back on the ground. I enter a stall, to clean and flush the condom as she moves across the bathroom to replace her skirt and press down her hair. From opposite ends of the bathroom, I'm sure, we appear helter skelter, with wrinkled clothes, quick breath and ruffled hair. But inside, I have reached an inner peace.

"Oops, I almost forgot!" she grins, after smoothing her hair. She puts her fingers in her mouth and unscrews her tongue ring. "This was great. Thanks."

And she exits the lavatory.

It may not have been like the notes in my locker, but boy, I am happy I opened it!

* * *

"_Bullets, my only weakness. How did you know?" -Harold & Kumar Go to White Castle_

She leaves me funny quotes from movies in my locker. She writes them on little scraps of paper, folded into tiny paper cranes and sneaks them into my locker when she can.

The first time I received the note, it had been written on a diminutive electric pink post it. It was a quote from _Anchorman_, one of my favorites, in fact. After reading the quote, I burst into a guffaw in the hall. For the rest of the day,

"_I'm gonna punch you in the ovary, that's what I'm gonna do. A straight shot, right to the babymaker."_

followed me around campus. She actually had succeeded in making my day better.

Like the visit to my corner in the library, the quotes are delivered infrequently, but the infrequency makes up for the lost novelty and allows me some semblance of companionship in this time of solitude.

TBC…

A/N: I hope you liked it. Lots of sexy action going on this chapter. Maybe too much? Wink* Don't forget to read and review, please!


	14. Misery

Nowhere Man

-Yo-yo

Disclaimer: Located in Chapter 1.

A/N: Please don't get upset at the liberties I took with my music timeline. I know this is happening in the mid-2000s, but Katie Perry didn't arrive until the 2010s, but I'm too lazy to remember the music of high school and I don't feel like using Wikipedia to research it. ^_^

Misery:

March has settled in, yet my circumstances remain the same.

Every morning begins with a swim. Breakfast, a shower, dress for school and a report for His upcoming day must be handed in before Frank allows me into the car. The short ride to school builds a sense of dread in my belly. For weeks now school has offered me little reprieve from the monotony that has become my life. The drive through the snow blanketed neighborhoods, over the familiar terrain of the road, making the exact same turns, every day, bolsters the anxiety accompanied with knowing what little fulfillment my day will contain. Just like the others that came before, I know what to expect, it will just be another day of avoiding interactions. After eight hours of self-imposed solitude, I will be ushered back into the car for Frank to bring me to "The Corporation." And there I will spend an agonizing three hours in silence, with my anger simmering, just being in His presence. My day ends in my bedroom, dinner delivered as I complete my homework and His daily report for tomorrow's project.

How long will this continue?

* * *

This morning, a minute green frog escapes my locker as I pry it open. I reach down quickly to pluck the little origami amphibian from the floor and a smile in anticipation of its content forms before I have even reversed its intricate folds.

It has been two weeks since I received the last one.

Inside, she's written:

"_I see you're drinking one percent. Is that 'cause you think you're fat? 'Cause you're not. You could be drinking whole milk if you wanted to." –Napoleon Dynamite_

It is then that my smile becomes genuine and I wish I had taken the note to the bathroom, for fear my expression would reveal this secret service. She had been carrying this on for two months now, slipping me scraps of optimism. After the initial hot pink post-it, rolled and marked with pen to mimic a cigarette, the way I identified the sender, I took them into the lavatory, in part to keep these gifts a secret from the inquisitive eyes at Chilton, but also in order to remember that to someone I was still significant.

He was doing a number on my reputation at Chilton. Once the king, who attended all of the social gatherings, closely connected to all of the big names, the leader of the population (that mattered), had now become the moody prince, ignoring everyone and everything. Austin and Jeremy were taking my place, making me less relevant, I feared, in my own kingdom.

I quickly determine which books I need for first and second period and race through the halls to homeroom. The surprising appearance of another note has thrown me off my time table.

"Welcome to class, Mr. DuGrey," Mrs. Peltry smiles before closing the door behind me. A sign, if I were on the other side, that I was late.

I nod on my way to my desk, and settle down while listening to Madeline's soft conversation with the girls.

"…it's been weeks with those guys. I honestly don't like when they pick the outings."

"I know," Louise frowns, with a ballpoint to her lips, "he's not talking to anyone. Not Jason, not the guys, Paris… anybody. I wonder what's up?"

"Whatever it is, he's keeping his grades up. I'm happy for him. He got the best grade for the Hamlet paper." Paris whispers.

"You would be the loser to be concerned about his GPA." Louise frowns, and starts quickly, an idea striking her, and a purr escaping her lips when she says,

"Hey Rory?"

She's starting trouble.

"Yea," she frowns looking up from her book. She is apparently getting started on her Pride and Prejudice reading.

I can feel Louise's eyes flicker over me, before she brazenly asks something she knows is taboo,

"Why don't you ask our fearless leader why he's abandoned his faithful subjects?"

"Huh? Who are you talking about?" Rory shuts her book, finally settling her attention on Louise.

"DuGrey." She smirks, as my eyes meet hers at the utterance of my name, "It wasn't long ago that he had eyes for you. In fact, I bet he still has a thing for you. All that virginal and innocent energy pulsing right in front of him every morning. Maybe you can be the one to arouse him… I mean, maybe you can find out why he's been away, and when he'll… cum… back." She whispers the last two words.

Rory sits up straight, keeping her eyes on Louise, sensing trouble.

"I'm not in the business of noting DuGrey's conquests. Besides, he barely acknowledges me, why would he tell me anything?"

"Oh," she sinks into her seat, "so you want him to acknowledge you? Do a number on you like he did with Rita? You shouldn't have been such a prude in the lunchroom that day."

"Louise," Madeline sends a warning tone.

"What, she only sits a foot away from him in homeroom and the heat she emits when he enters the room…" Louise grins, giving me the once over as I have not taken my gaze from her, "Every time he comes in, she crosses her knees."

I know not to react, something will break if I do, but it is true.

"Watching my knees are you? Are you looking to repeat a scene from a Katy Perry song?" She counters weakly, the blood flushing from her face as she internally questions the statement's validity. She wasn't expecting an unconscious act to be so embarrassingly revealing. "What are you talking about? Making room for him to pass by? You're twisted. I'm not going to waste my day squabbling with you over Tristan," she spits the name with such distain I know to be offended. "Especially when Francis let it slip in Chemistry that you're overdue for a waxing. Maybe you should contemplate crossing your knees?"

I open my English textbook to any page and lift it to my face to avoid acknowledging that Rory just bested Louise.

She is coming into her own.

* * *

She doesn't visit me during lunch.

I expected that. After what Louise revealed, letting her know that even her simplest gestures were being tracked and catalogued, I am sure that I won't be able to find her in secret again. It had been awhile since her last visit anyway, and her note didn't reveal, per usual, why there had been a hiatus.

As I settle into my seat in History, the class beside Homeroom and English that we share, I watch as she and Lane follow the girls, embroiled in a conversation about their lunch-capades?

"Rory, the rules of MASH are sacred!" Lane hugs her books to her chest.

"That's not fair!" She laughs behind her friend, "I am not getting married to the present Ron Jeremy, I'm not driving an egg carton, we're not living in a shack and I will not birth his six children! That's a perverse world."

"He's an award winner! How you guys end up in a shack is between you and your god, also known as a financial manager."

"When you said we'd be playing blind MASH, I thought you were going to be nice to me!"

"I know," she grins settling into her seat, "You're so trusting! Thanks for the house, two kids, and the Prius. My husband isn't the greatest, but he's better than yours."

"Yea, even a short, little British guy like Ricky Gervais would beat the current, and past, by the way, Ron Jeremy." Rory rolls her eyes and takes out her pen.

"He'll make you happy in other ways," Lane winks.

"I hope that's why I'm pushing out six kids." She groans.

"You guys are perverted," Paris gives them a dirty look as she settles in her seat.

I don't understand how the girls do it; their relationships are so contentious. They are friend and foe in the same moment, at all times. Although I know the disagreement between Rory and Penny is in jest, I know the look of disdain on Paris's face is genuinely felt. How the girls navigate their relationships, I still wonder.

"Silence class," Mrs. Caldecott begins over the normal post lunch, pre dismissal din, "Let's start our lessons."

A little shuffling occurs before everyone is ready for another history lesson.

"The time has come for Sophomore Projects. Every class at Chilton has a project they must complete before they move on to the next term. For Frosh, it begins in the beginning of the first semester, Juniors spend their time working at the end of the first semester, Sophomores attend to their projects in the middle of the second semester, and Seniors finish their time here with a presentation. Today, after class, the groups will be posted and the packet containing presentation guidelines will be distributed. Deadlines are in two weeks, right before you leave for Spring Break."

A groan makes its way through the class. Freshman year's project had been an attempt to fabricate both friendships and academic success for new Chilton students. The topic had to do with Popular Culture (a topic typical for freshman). Each group had to watch a movie or read a book with an epitomic American teenager at its center. Then write a 15 page paper discussing if that paradigm could survive time past, present and future. It was a fun topic to work on, but your assigned group depends on your level of enjoyment. I was grouped with Daniel, Jeremy and Austin; we chose Zack Morris.

The energy in the class is humming as Caldecott begins our lesson. Whispers and notes concerning what will transpire after class gets a blind eye as she knows to expect her students' reactions. Although class resumes like normal, I am never able to experience the excitement at the end of the day.

Like clockwork, five minutes before the bell rang, I am asked to accompany an office worker out of class. A packet containing project parameters is thrust into my arms as I leave the classroom. I collect my things from my locker and make my way into Frank's car, never finding out who I'll be working with for the next two weeks.

* * *

"Tristan, we're headed home," He jangles his keys from the doorway to his office.

Today, another three hours are squandered, locked in His chamber, using my brain power to see a way out of this situation. This punishment is nearing its third month, the longest amount of time that He and I have consecutively spent in constant contact with one another, and I can't figure out why he hasn't gone bonkers. He should want out of this situation as much as I do.

Like most days, our ride back to the house held zero interaction. Instead, of speaking He discusses business on His cell phone while I read through my project topic.

This year's topic:

_In most cultures, marriage matches are made between families based on wealth, social status, religious views or familial responsibilities. In these arrangements, a couple seems to have little say with whom they spend the majority of their adult life. This is sometimes called an arranged marriage. In the economically Western culture, marriages like these are considered barbaric, offering little choice and little to no agency for abused parties, but the economically Western "love matches" are fraught with instability and criticism. Identify a culture with which you feel demonstrates ideal partnership conditions and explain why, using two different cultural models to compare and contrast your decision._

This is going to be fun, arguing what should constitute the basic foundations of a lifetime partnership with potential strangers. Better yet, it is two weeks of intensive research culminating in a 20 page paper on top of my regular school work and other responsibilities. These next two weeks are sure to be hell.

We leave the car and part our own ways, but not before He tells me that Jan will be over for dinner and we'll be dining at seven.

A groan escapes me as I make my way upstairs. This unannounced disruption to my routine is a blow to my schedule. My dinner is usually taken alone, in my bedroom as I complete my homework, with little disruption of any kind. Now I must re-arrange my tasks to include dinner with DuGrey men.

Forty five minutes later, I lay back in my bed, letting the mechanical whirring of the computer printer lull me into a trance-like state. I am done with tomorrow's report, and can spend a few moments relaxing before sulking my way downstairs to have a frigid, quiet family dinner.

"TJ," an aged voice penetrates the fortress of solitude that has become my haven within this house.

"C'min Gramps," I sit up in my bed, digging my elbows into my knees as the door swings open and Janlan strides in.

"Wow, they did a doozy on this room, didn't they?" he walks around, inspecting the place. His footsteps echo, the acoustics having greatly improved with the absence of my furniture. "We should open this room up to a choir next holiday season," he nods, noting his echoing voice.

"I haven't seen you in months, how are you doing, Gramps?"

"Oh, you know me, reading, eating, and annoying Eileen."

"Good times, good times," I nod, putting my head in my hands, therefore suspending my observance of his inspection.

"How have you been occupying yourself in Loren's best reincarnation of hell?"

"Work… my grades are impeccable because of it. Paris is happy."

"But you are not? I suppose." He stops to watch me, and I raise my eyes to his at the quiet of his steps.

"How could I be? I'm with Him all day. It's a misery loves company situation."

"The whole world is treating you bad," Jan grins.

"Misery," frustration launches me from my seat and we both head toward the door.

"We'll see, son," he squeezes my shoulder as we descend the stairs to the dining room.

Once in the dining room, we wait for Him to take our seats and Alina to begin serving us.

"So father, you've called this dinner," He begins, almost immediately after placing his fork in his wilted salad.

"Couldn't wait to finish your salad? We sat down three minutes ago," Janlan laughs, before taking his first bite.

"Well, it was quite abrupt," Loren waits until he has finished chewing before continuing, "We are both entangled in multiple projects and this throws a wrench in our work schedules."

"Well, you guys get to spend fifteen hours a week together, I was feeling left out." Janlan explained petulantly.

"You can meet us at the office? In fact, this next month is going to be pretty busy. It's actually going to require more of you, young man."

I nearly choke at the realization he is insinuating I have at least another month in His service.

"A month?" Janlan objects for me.

"Young man," he turns to Loren, "This already has gone on for too long. You have had him under your hand for over two months now. How long are you going to keep him captive? He has his own life to maintain!"

"Father, under my tutelage, he is doing a wonderful job. His grades are up. He's becoming more efficient. His strides in the office are…" I watch his voice falters, he's actually complimenting me, and the realization keeps the words from coming.

"I can't work on your project for the next two weeks," I finally interject on their conversation concerning me.

"Why not?" His eye's narrow.

"Sophomore project was announced today, two weeks of research culminates as a twenty page paper. My group needs to begin work, essentially tomorrow. And the project is compiled on top of my regular schoolwork. I'll be inundated. I can't take on a major project at this point for your company."

Loren doesn't respond, as a member of the wait staff clears our plates and Alina distributes dinner.

"While I can't keep you from your schoolwork, we'll revisit the conversation of the tenure of your punishment when your project is over. What will your schedule look like? I'm expecting you in the office every day that you aren't working on this project."

Jan and I roll our eyes at Loren's asinine concession.

"When I know, I'll let you know. Groups were announced after class today, I was already on my way to your office. Tomorrow we'll set up a schedule."

The rest of dinner is a waste of brain cells.

* * *

Waiting at my locker this morning were Jason and Lane, deep in discussion.

Since my parentally imposed social exile, no one has dared enter my spaces, brazenly at least, at Chilton. No one has found themselves in my corner of the library, planted themselves in the space in front of my locker, or occupied any of my seats in the classrooms. News of my withdrawal was far-reaching, and no one has attempted to disturb the current order of things, until this morning, the morning after the sophomore projects were announced.

"What are you doing here?" I offer no emotion as I begin to twirl the dial on the combination lock.

"We've come to get you out of this rut of yours," Lane smiles excitedly, giving me a soft push.

"What she means is," Jason pulls her away, wrapping one arm around her shoulders while his other arm holds on to his books. "…we'll be working on the sophomore project together, and it's a good idea for us to meet, fairly soon and get a schedule down."

"Only three people per group this year?" I ask, taking my final book and shutting the thin sheet metal door.

"Five. You, me, Jase, Rita Terlington and someone named Myers Edgars." Lane replies.

"Rita?" Her name comes out as a groan.

"Yea, how bout before lunch, after class we meet quickly to figure out a time and a place to get this shiznit done!" She wrinkles her nose. I know that it is at the thought of our other group members.

"How are Rita's grades?" Jase asks as we all head toward homeroom, we're all likely to be late.

"Don't worry," Lane smiles again before sitting in her seat, "we'll be doing all of the work, I suspect."

I don't comment as I sit behind Mary, whose legs fold over themselves as I settle behind her, but as if realizing her mistake, she unfurls them. An inward smirk keeps my head down, remembering Louise's comments yesterday, and a moment later, my smirk gets replaced by a curious smile. She's crossed her knees again; I'm sure this time it's in defiance.

"Did you guys figure out a time and place?" Penny leans over and whispers to Mary.

"Paris has decreed from three thirty to seven Monday, Wednesday and Friday's after school we'll be meeting and discussing and writing this project. And perhaps an all day meeting on the Saturday before it's due." She expels a frustrated breath.

"I have already reserved the NHS conference room." Paris whispered to Mary as she took her seat in front of her.

"See, she's already gone Fidel Castro."

"That actually sounds like a great schedule," Lane and I exchange mutual nods in agreement. She leans over to tap Paris's shoulder and asks, "Mind if we occupy the other half of the room? It's big enough."

In this moment, I love Lane for her quick thinking. Not only does it mean I can gain access to Mary while in Chilton with little speculation from our peers, but Paris and Rory, in a group together, promises to be the best kind of entertainment once my interest in the project has waned.

"As long as you manage to keep your flirting to a minimum. I hear Rita will be in your group, and we **will** be working!" She sends a pointed look to both Mary and I.

"Cool. I'll tell Jase, and during our short meeting during lunch we'll assign some research during the weekend."

"You sound just like her, you know," Mary frowns, her eyes back in her book. As though absently, she continues, "These next two weeks are going to kill me. On top of Pride and Prejudice, Geometry proofs, and everything else this place keeps throwing at me, I've got to sacrifice my free time to discuss the sanctity of marriage. Ugh."

I smile opening my Geometry book, checking to see if my proofs had been completed. Geo was the class that I sacrificed in order to accommodate the sad attempt at a family dinner last night.

At least I can give up this façade for a few short moments in the upcoming weeks.

TBC…

A/N: I hope you like my post, and the quickness at which I continued? It would be helpful to get some reviews. Although they are not mandatory, it lets me know that this story is appreciated and if it's being read, and if I should in fact continue with these stories. It might even help me understand if continuity is still working or if I need to rehab the last two chapters, which I keep thinking. I'm back in my stride now, but I think that last chapter, of _both_ Strawberry Fields and this one might need more work.


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